


Her Cruel and Angry Bones

by QueenOfTheDreamers (QueenOfDreamers)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: 1968, Ballet Dancing, Combat Training, F/M, Minor underage (it's almost her birthday; clothes stay on), house arrest, legal guardian, ward of the state
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-04 04:28:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 69
Words: 159,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14012196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfDreamers/pseuds/QueenOfTheDreamers
Summary: After bickering with a Muggle-born Gryffindor girl, Bellatrix loses her temper and instinctively uses the Cruciatus Curse in a corridor at Hogwarts. Naturally, the criminal act is witnessed by none other than Minerva McGonagall. Expelled and facing permanent seizure of her wand, Bellatrix is saved by a bargain manipulated by Voldemort, who wants to forge this cruel young witch into a soldier. As his ward, under house arrest at Malfoy Manor, Bellatrix becomes more than she could have ever imagined.Every day, she finds new ways to impress him - from using her lifelong ballet skills with a wand in her hand to practise for battle to discussing the vengeance she'll enact on her old school enemies. Every day, she finds herself more entranced by his enigmatic charm. Under the circumstances of the house arrest and guardianship, in such close quarters, being constantly impressed by one another, with days ticking down until Bellatrix comes of age... Malfoy Manor becomes a bit of a pressure cooker.





	1. Chapter 1

**June 1968**

" _Acus Religo._ " Bellatrix aimed her wand at the needle on the desk before her and watched it morph and transform. It blackened and shifted in heft and shape until it was a little black button. She looked around boredly to see that her classmates were struggling mightily with the needle-to-button work. Honestly, Bellatrix didn't know why McGonagall had given them brand-new spells in the last week before revisions for final exams began. Probably, the witch wanted to show Dumbledore a good stern persona in her first year as Head of Transfiguration. After all, McGonagall was just past thirty, and Dumbledore himself was fresh in the Headmaster's office.

Still, it was annoying that the fifth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins had been given brand-new spells just before the end of term. So, even though she was having less trouble with the work than just about anyone else, Bellatrix called over her shoulder,

"Professor McGonagall? I've got a question."

McGonagall looked rather suspicious, but she approached Bellatrix's desk, her emerald raw silk robes swishing around her.

"Yes, Miss Black?" she trilled, and Bellatrix asked in a very serious voice,

"Why would I ever need this spell?"

McGonagall narrowed her pale eyes. "I beg your pardon, Miss Black?"

"Well." Bellatrix picked up the button and shrugged. "What am I meant to do with this? I've just gotten rid of my needle. In order to sew on a button, you need a needle. And what good's a needle without a button? Aren't they sort of interdependent? What's the real-world application for this spell?"

A few of the Slytherins in the room tittered, and the Gryffindors went quiet. McGonagall calmly adjusted her hold on her own wand and plucked the button from Bellatrix's hand. She cleared her throat softly and murmured,

" _Textus Byssus._ "

A scrap of cream-coloured cotton fabric materialised in the air, and as it fluttered into her hand, McGonagall folded it carefully. She placed it onto the desk in front of Bellatrix and gave her a meaningful look. She walked over to a desk with two Gryffindor girls and picked up the button they'd been working with, carried the button to Bellatrix's desk, and set it down. Then she tapped the button with her wand and incanted,

" _Religo Acus._ "

She'd performed the reverse of the Transfiguration spell Bellatrix had done; the button turned back into a needle. Once it did, McGonagall picked up Bellatrix's button and began stitching it onto the fabric. As she did, she said in her nasally Scottish brogue,

"Miss Black, there may come a time in your life where you've got a travelling cloak with a missing button, and you've got a drawer full of needles. Or you may have a bowl full of buttons, and nary a needle in sight to stitch them on. Or you may just be sloppy with a Stitching Charm. In any case, my dear, I think you'll find that Transfiguration has been a subject at Hogwarts for a thousand years for very good reason, and that this particular spell has appeared on N.E.W.T. exams for centuries not by coincidence. Any other questions?"

She picked up the fabric with the button stitched on and handed it to Bellatrix, who nonverbally Vanished it and shook her head.

"No, Professor," she said in a surly tone. "No other questions."

"Wonderful. I saw you perform the spell. Full marks, Miss Black." McGonagall walked away briskly, off toward a table of two Slytherin girls who were giggling like mad. Once she was out of earshot, one of the Gryffindor girls at the nearby table muttered,

"My God; she's a colossal bitch!"

"Josephine!" laughed the girl beside her. Bellatrix scowled at the first girl, a tall, skinny blonde with pimples all over her already freckled face. Josephine Glass, she was called. A Mudblood Gryffindor. Bellatrix curled her lip up as the other girl, Rhonda, asked softly,

"You don't mean McGonagall?"

"No!" Josephine hissed. "Bellatrix! She's a bitch! To us, to the teachers! Surprised the other Slytherins don't just -"

"I can  _hear_  you," Bellatrix snarled, and Josephine tipped her chin up as she looked over from her desk. She said nothing, and Bellatrix snorted a little laugh as she said, "You've got something on your face."

Josephine's cheeks went pink then, though it was difficult to tell. Rhonda, the other girl, looked terribly affronted, but Bellatrix shrugged.

After lessons, Rhonda and the other Gryffindors peeled off to go to the Divination Tower, whilst Josephine headed in the same direction as Bellatrix, toward a study hour in the library. Once the corridor outside the Transfiguration classroom was relatively empty, Bellatrix pulled out her wand and called,

"Josephine."

The Gryffindor girl turned round and rolled her eyes.

"What do you want, Bellatrix? An apology? You  _were_  a bitch to McGonagall."

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes as she approached Josephine, and she curled up her lip in disgust. "You filthy Mudblood. How dare you try and insult me?"

Josephine rolled her eyes again, and Bellatrix scoffed,

"You do that enough, your eyeballs are liable to roll straight onto the floor. It's very unflattering, even by your hideous standards."

"You really are a bitch in general, aren't you?" Josephine said, almost in disbelief.

"Put your wand down, girl!" cried a portrait on the wall, and Bellatrix snapped,

"You shut up, or I'll tear your canvas to shreds!"

"Calm down, Bellatrix," Josephine said, sounding a little afraid now. She put her hands up and stepped back a little, and she suggested, "Let's just go to the library, eh?"

"Disgusting little worm. A Mudblood, calling  _me_  a bitch," Bellatrix whispered, her heart speeding up beyond her control. She felt heat in her ears, and her wand shook like mad in her fingers. She felt herself losing control quickly, like she was a string about to snap. She saw fear in Josephine's eyes, and the girl said softly,

"Bellatrix, I'm sorry. Let's just -"

" _Crucio!_ " Bellatrix screamed, before she could even think about it. The word came out of her mouth on instinct, and a bolt of scarlet light snaked at once from the end of her wand. It snared like a web around Josephine Glass, sending the girl straight to the floor in a heap. Josephine shrieked, and her cries echoed off the stone walls. She writhed, her back arching much more harshly than was natural, and her fists clenched. One black loafer came part of the way off as her feet dragged against the stone floor, and all the while she screamed. Bellatrix felt a flush of strange pleasure as the red light glowed.

"BELLATRIX BLACK!  _Expelliarmus!_ "

Bellatrix whirled round as her wand went flying out of her hand, whizzing through the air toward Minerva McGonagall, who stood in the centre of the corridor in open-mouthed horror.

* * *

"How could you do this? How could you bring this shame on our family?" Druella Black paced like a rat in the spacious, elegantly-decorated dark blue parlour of the Black family home in London. She put her hands to her head and sobbed for a moment. She'd been doing that ever since she and Cygnus Black had come to Hogwarts to fetch their expelled daughter.

Bellatrix was numb by now. She'd been given her wand back, since they weren't legally allowed to keep it until the Wizengamot handed down a sentence. She wouldn't go to Azkaban, of course, since she was still sixteen. That was her saving grace, her father had said. If it had been three months later, they'd have sentenced her to a Dementor's Kiss. Now, if she was lucky, she'd have her wand permanently confiscated and would have to live forever like a Squib. She would never step foot in Hogwarts again.

Narcissa had cried like a toddler in a tantrum when she'd been given the news. She'd acted like Bellatrix had been killed. For her part, Andromeda had been furious. Bellatrix  _should_ go to prison, Andromeda had said, before she had the chance to kill someone. Bellatrix had stayed mostly silent for the last week, through all the meetings and screaming matches. She had barely felt anything. No remorse, to be certain, which was probably something she should be feeling. She didn't even really feel trepidation about losing her wand. It made sense. After all, she'd cast an Unforgivable. She merely felt as though something had happened, and now other things would happen. She was a player in an inescapable series of events.

"You have disgraced this family forever!" Druella was screaming. Cygnus approached her to try and calm her, but the petite, thin Druella, with her severely knotted hair and her antique-style gown, swatted him roughly away and snarled, "You always encouraged this cruelty in her, Cygnus! She is  _your_  daughter in this way!"

"Mum," Bellatrix sighed, feeling as though a parental argument was hardly going to help things.

Suddenly there was a rapping on the home's front door, and the manic little House-Elf, Mappy, exclaimed from the other room,

"I'll get the door, Masters!"

"Why is someone knocking on our door?" Druella demanded, swiping frantically at her tears. She aimed her wand at herself and incanted, " _Blancha._ "

The puffy redness from crying decreased a little, and just in time. Bellatrix flew to her feet as Mappy showed in the wizard that Bellatrix had only met a few times, the wizard she knew was leading an underground movement among Purebloods. Lord Voldemort.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a face that she could tell had once been extremely handsome. He always looked like he was in desperate need of sleep, as though he'd been blurred somehow. It was difficult to describe; it was like some disease or loss or weariness had eaten at a profoundly good-looking man. But he was still distantly handsome, even at an age that seemed similar to her father's. He was dressed very sharply, in a high-necked set of black brocade robes that looked very expensive. He nodded as he came into the parlour, and Druella curtsied just a little to him.

"My Lord," she said. "Welcome to our home."

"Madam Black," Voldemort acknowledged. "Cygnus. Miss Black. May we talk?"

"Yes. Let's sit. Shall I have tea made?" Druella asked, and as they all took places upon the plush white furniture, Voldemort shook his head and set a leather folio down on the table before him. He looked straight at Bellatrix, and she was struck suddenly by how sharp his eyes were. They were aggressive, even just looking at her like this, and she shrank back a little.

"I hear you got yourself into a spot of trouble, Bellatrix," he said, and she nodded. She was sure he knew the story by now. He narrowed his eyes and asked bluntly, "Why did you use that particular spell?"

"It was instinct," Bellatrix said immediately, and his lips curled up a little as he nodded. He dragged his thumb over his jaw and acknowledged,

"It's not instinct for most people, you know, to use the Cruciatus Curse."

"Yes. I've been hearing that from a lot of people for the last week," Bellatrix said, and Druella hissed,

"Don't be disrespectful."

"She's fine, Druella," Voldemort said. He kept his eyes on Bellatrix and asked meaningfully,

"Did you enjoy it?"

Cygnus gasped a little, and Druella looked utterly horrified by the question, but Bellatrix smirked and nodded.

"I did, a little," she whispered, and Voldemort smiled.

"That's what I needed to hear." He picked up his folio as Druella and Cygnus stared at one another in complete shock. Voldemort said in a businesslike voice, "I have many friends in the Wizengamot. Even more  _friends_ for whom a hundred Galleons goes a long way. Between real friends and bought friends, I have more than enough influence to outweigh the likes of Dumbledore. I have managed to work out a bargain."

"A bargain, sir?" Cygnus asked, reaching for Druella's hand, and Voldemort nodded once. He pulled out a sheet of parchment from the folio and said,

"This is a plea bargain. Bellatrix confesses to using an Unforgivable as an underaged witch. In exchange, she keeps her wand - yes, I know -  _but_ , she must remain under house arrest until her nineteenth birthday, at which time she will be reassessed by the Wizengamot."

"But that seems more than fair!" Druella breathed. She grinned and patted Bellatrix's knee. "Bella, dear, you can stay here at home; I know it'll feel cramped after awhile, but -"

"No, she won't be here," Voldemort said primly. He waited for that to settle, and then he said, "I arranged this mostly for myself. As my movement gains traction, I will require soldiers whose skill not only matches but exceeds that of the Ministry's Aurors. I will require people whose instinct is to jump straight to the Cruciatus Curse."

He waited for  _that_  to settle, and as it did, Bellatrix felt a happy little smile crossing her face. She was to keep her wand? She was to be his soldier someday? A soldier in that phantom movement of which her father and his friends were a part. She trembled with excitement where she sat, and she knew that Voldemort was measuring her reaction.

"I am currently based at Malfoy Manor," he said, "so Bellatrix will be my legal ward - under the name of Tom Riddle, of course - until her reassessment by the Ministry on her nineteenth birthday. She will not be allowed to leave the grounds of Malfoy Manor, but they are spacious, and she will have private living quarters. You may visit whenever you wish, with written notice. Obviously, she can't do any magic at all until her birthday in September, and after that, no Hexes, Jinxes, or Curses - her wand will be inspected. I must provide regular updates on her behaviour to the Ministry, and every three months, she'll have to meet with a case manager from Magical Law Enforcement. I'll escort her to those meetings."

"So you're to be like her parent?" Druella seemed very confused. "We're her parents."

"No. I'm going to be her legal guardian until her sentence is over," Voldemort said stiffly, "so that I can train her properly to be my soldier. I hope everything is clear now. This is really not up for discussion, Madam Black. The other option is permanent wand seizure, with the possibility of a short Azkaban sentence once she comes of age."

Druella gasped a little, and Cygnus bowed his head. Bellatrix choked out a little laugh and said loudly,

"Well, I don't mind living in Malfoy Manor and training and reporting to the Ministry! I don't mind that!"

Voldemort laughed softly and set down the parchment on the table. He pulled a solid steel self-inking quill out of the inner pocket of his robes and set it down, and he said,

"Well, I need everyone's signatures. I have already signed. I do think this is the best outcome of this situation for everyone involved. Bellatrix, why don't you go pack your things? I'll take this paperwork over to the Ministry, and then… well, I'll show you to your new abode."

Bellatrix's hand shook around the cold steel quill as she signed her name to the confession agreement, and then the parchment agreeing to be Tom Riddle's ward, and then the parchment agreeing to the arrangements about house arrest and Ministry check-ins. She panted slightly, feeling overwhelmed, as she handed the quill and the papers back to Lord Voldemort.

"Thank you," she whispered, and he nodded.

"I'll be back soon."

**Author's Note: Awwww, yeah. New Bellamort fic. Who's up for this crazy ride? I am so looking forward to this one, I have to tell you. :} Obviously, she's still sixteen, and this one will** _**not** _ **have anything explicit until she is of age (17 in the Wizarding World)! BUT! That doesn't mean we can't spend some time building up some veeeeeeeeeeeery graaaaaaaaaadual tension. Mwah hahahahahaha. I have so many ideas for this story - seriously, I'm sitting here giggling just thinking about it.**

**Hope you read along as I write, and PLEASE take a moment to leave a review if you get a chance as you're reading. The feedback is greatly appreciated.**


	2. Master

"The gardens are lovely," Bellatrix said, and Voldemort smiled a bit to himself as he thought that she was just trying to make the best of a bad situation. She was going to be trapped here, so she was saying the gardens were lovely.

"There was a bundimun infestation last year. They had to rip up all the rose bushes and start over," Voldemort said.

"Oh. That's too bad," Bellatrix said, following him past the rather sorry-looking hedges and trees. Voldemort pointed out to her,

"There's a winding creek down that way. That's your boundary. Over there, to the right, do not go past that hedge. And then this way, the iron fence and the gate."

Bellatrix scowled, and Voldemort tipped his head as he reminded her,

"You  _did_  cast an Unforgivable Curse at school, mind you, and are being 'punished' by being permitted to keep your wand and live in a manor."

"Right. I am very grateful, sir," Bellatrix affirmed. Voldemort led her in through the large double doors of the manor, through the echoing stone foyer and up the wide main staircase, and then down the chandelier-lined corridor on the main level.

"This is my office," he said, gesturing to a door on the right. "If you think I'm in there and you need for some reason, knock. If I don't answer, then I'm either there or I don't want to talk to you."

She smirked a bit at that, and he realised they had rather the same sense of humour. He led her further down the corridor, past the portraits that were already whispering gossip, until they came to another large, dark, gloomy space.

"And this is the dining room." Voldemort brought Bellatrix into the room, and he told her, "I take dinner every evening at eight o'clock sharp. You may either join me, or you may eat on your own. Let Dobby know what you will be doing. When he's in, sometimes Mr Malfoy dines with me. We sometimes take brandy after dinner and talk, but that's… well, that's discussion for the adults, I'm afraid."

She nodded and wrung her hands, and she asked him, "Would you prefer that I eat alone?"

"I don't really care one way or the other," he said. "Eat whenever you want to. You're not a prisoner. Oh… wait."

He tipped his head and crossed his arms, and Bellatrix looked like she was stifling a laugh. He jerked his head toward the corner stairwell, leading her up another level and then halfway down a corridor. A very curious-looking portrait of an 18th-century witch ogled them as he paused.

"So. These are to be your quarters." Voldemort pushed open the black lacquered door that led into the suite of rooms that Abraxas Malfoy had agreed to let Bellatrix use. He glanced over his shoulder and informed her, "Mr Malfoy's and my rooms are upstairs, on the second level. He and I have a suite each. If you're in dire need of assistance, send the House-Elf for us; he's called Dobby. Mr Malfoy is often out. My suite is the one just beside the stairwell. You'll have this level to yourself - except, of course, when Lucius is home from school. His rooms are the suite next door."

Bellatrix nodded, looking quite nervous. She'd be the only living female thing in the house, Voldemort realised. Even Malfoy's Siamese cat that appeared every now and then was male. It didn't have a name, but it was most definitely male. Lucius Malfoy was still only twelve, so he was hardly a bother even when he was home on holidays, except that he could be a bit of an aspirational pester on meeting days. Most of the time during summer and Christmas, Lucius was at his mother Aeta's house in Wales.

Aeta Mulciber had married Abraxas Malfoy upon their parents' request, had borne him one child, and then had swiftly realised she preferred witches to wizards. That was for the better, because Abraxas preferred witches, too. He preferred them so well that he spent many nights away from Malfoy Manor in the company of them. He at least had the good sense not to bring them back in front of Voldemort, who was just now powerful enough to strike a bit of fear into Abraxas.

"Does she ever come here?" Bellatrix asked softly, and Voldemort raised his eyebrows, wondering if she was secretly a Legilimens. Bellatrix specified, "Mrs Malfoy. Does she ever come by?"

"Oh. No. She stays in Wales," Voldemort said. Bellatrix was a Pureblood. She knew precisely what had become of Aeta Malfoy. Voldemort led Bellatrix into the suite, into its small sitting room, and he informed her, "You're likely to feel cramped and crowded, I know. You have free reign of the place except for the other living quarters. There's a very nice library just down the corridor, and of course there are parlours and things."

"Is there… is there anywhere I might dance, sir?" Bellatrix asked, dusting her fingers over the back of the hunter green sofa in the dark, paneled sitting room. He frowned and laughed a little.

"Dance?" he repeated. Her cheeks went a little pink, and she said,

"I've done ballet since I was very small. My mother said I walked like an elephant, and so she brought in Mr Vasiliev to teach me. He was in the Wizarding Ballet of Moscow, you know. Anyway, I've always danced, even at Hogwarts, and I'd hoped to keep it up. For… fitness."

Voldemort cocked up an eyebrow and smirked. "You don't seem much like the tutu type, what with the instinctive torturing."

She smiled and shook her head. "I don't care much for the tutus, I'll admit. I don't wear them to practise. It's all right. I'm being punished. I understand."

"No, it's… there's a room. It's upstairs, the third storey. Sort of like a garret room. The ceiling's a little low, but you're little; you wouldn't notice. It's got wood floors and lots of light. You could put some mirrors; I'll Conjure some for you."

She grinned. "And a barre? Could you Conjure a barre, sir?"

He scoffed. "Well, I'd have no idea how to do that. Perhaps there's a book about it in the library."

"We'll start with mirrors then," she nodded. "Thank you."

She glanced to her right, into the bedroom with its beautifully outfitted, heavy mahogany bed, its deep brown walls and brass accents. Beyond that, Voldemort knew, was a bathroom with bright white walls and a deep copper tub. This was luxury, but she was used to luxury, having grown up in the House of Black. He cleared his throat and joked,

"Better than the Slytherin dormitories, I suppose?"

"Anything's better than the Slytherin dormitories," she mumbled, and he shrugged as he remembered how he'd thought that Hogwarts had been a palace compared to Wool's Orphanage. But he just studied her as she took in her surroundings, and he saw a certain vulnerability in her hardness. She was cold, he could tell, and cruel to the marrow of her bones. But she was frightened somewhere inside of her. It was visibly plain to him. He had been just like her, once upon a time. He actually smiled a little, seeing a piece of his soul reflected in someone else like that, and he asked her yet again,

"Why did you do it? Casting that kind of spell inside the walls of Hogwarts?"

She turned her face to him, crossed her arms over her chest as though protectively embracing herself, and shrugged. And then she said, "I couldn't help it."

He frowned. "You couldn't help it."

"No." She looked really and truly scared then, and she asked him, "Please be honest with me. Am I broken? They're all angry - my parents, Dumbledore, McGonagall. They're enraged. Terrified. But me… all I know is that I didn't have a choice. That Mudblood made me angry, and so I did what my magic made me do."

He felt his lips curl up a bit, felt his heart speed up a little, and he asked softly, "When has this happened before? You losing control like this?"

Bellatrix shrugged again, pouting a bit and sounding defensive as she said, "I was angry at Andromeda a few years ago. She wore my skirt without asking and tore it. Mum mended it, but it didn't look right. I confronted Andy, and she said I should share. I lost my temper, and when I shoved her, magic burst out of my hands, and she was flung so hard against the wall that she was knocked unconscious and dislocated her shoulder. There have been other times."

"You're violent," Voldemort said simply, and Bellatrix didn't answer. Voldemort stepped closer to her and nodded down at her. He informed her, "One time, when I was a boy, another little boy angered me, so I set his bed on fire. No wand. Didn't know what in the bloody hell I was doing. All I knew was that I was angry and that he needed punishment, and then there was fire. But I learnt to control that rage. So many witches and wizards, Bella, are taught that with age and experience, they will suppress those early urges. People stop breaking things when they grow up, right?"

"Right," Bellatrix whispered, looking awed, but Voldemort shook his head.

"Wrong," he said. "Powerful people learn to break things  _on purpose._  Powerful people learn to cast the Cruciatus Curse because they feel like it, because it's strategic. Because it's the right thing to do in the moment, because they have the right victim in the right place. So you will torture for me, Bellatrix, but you will be in control of yourself when you do it. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Her voice was barely audible then. He bent his head a little and murmured,

"Master."

She looked a little confused, and he clarified,

"To the Ministry of Magic, I am Tom Riddle. But to my Death Eaters - among whom I hope you will find yourself someday - I am Lord Voldemort. And do you know what they call me, Bellatrix?"

Her rose-coloured lips parted, and her wide eyes blinked, and she nodded. "Master."

He smiled and stood up straight. "Make yourself comfortable. You're here until your nineteenth birthday."

**Author's Note: Awww, he's already going to build her a dance studio. And teach her how to break things on purpose. Haha. Let's get this party started. Thanks so much for those who have already reviewed. So much love to you.**


	3. Arabesque

He'd built her a barre.

He must have found instructions in a book, Bellatrix thought as she listened to the fuzzy music from the Wizarding Wireless in the corner of her makeshift dance studio. She leaned forward to counterbalance her weight as she stretched her leg up and back in an elegant, fully extended  _arabesque_. She studied her body in the mirror, the way her thin, sinewy arm went parallel to her leg. She perfected the angle and then slowly lowered her leg, descending into a deep  _plié_  and then walking with toe-first steps out to the edge of the room.

The music was some sort of maudlin waltz, almost impossible to dance to, but Bellatrix didn't feel like switching stations just now. She'd been dancing for over an hour, and the wispy strands that had escaped from the bun of her hair were plastered to her forehead by sweat. Bellatrix picked her wand up off the narrow, rickety wooden table under the window, where she'd put her loose-fitting cotton dress that she'd worn over her leotard and tights and short, wispy practise skirt. She stared at her wand, realising how close she'd come to losing it, and she carried it out to the centre of the room.

She descended into a low dip again, but this time, she stomped her ballet shoe hard on the wooden floor and propelled herself into a spin, aiming her wand at the mirror. She twirled, using a far more aggressive technique than her Russian tutor had spent years teaching her. She spotted the mirror, whipping her wand toward an invisible enemy every time that her foot slammed the ground, sending her around again.  _Stomp, spin, aim. Stomp, spin, aim_.

Bellatrix ran, breaking free of her spin and dashing with elegant, leaping steps across the garret room. She glided into a slide, definitely not a standard dance move, and aimed her wand at the same spot on the mirror, the same imaginary enemy. She rolled on the ground, keeping her body sleek and clean in its movements, keeping her head tipped back and her eyes locked on the mirror. She rolled up to stand, tipped into another counterbalanced  _arabesque_ , and aimed her wand at the mirror, extending the position until her legs were perpendicular to the ground.

Suddenly she saw a reflection in the mirror, and she gasped a little. She was utterly breathless now, sweaty and sore, but she stayed locked in her position as she met Lord Voldemort's eyes in the mirror. He stood in the threshold, looking somewhat amazed. Bellatrix decided to keep at her work and acknowledge him without talking. Somehow, that seemed like the right thing to do.

She lowered her leg out of its  _arabesque_ position and curled it down around her knee, spinning a little, and she pushed her feet up into a perfect  _pointe_  position. She stepped across the room toward Voldemort, twirling in a full circle once every other step. She adjusted her grip on her wand, and when she was three steps away from him, she raised her wand halfway through a spin and slammed her feet down, aiming her wand at him and panting as though she'd been rescued from drowning.

"You know," he said calmly, "I have seen the Wizarding Ballet of Moscow perform. I don't recall them choreographing battles on the stage."

"No," Bellatrix whispered breathlessly, shaking her head and lowering her wand. "It just feels right to hold my wand when I dance, I suppose."

He smirked a little and asked her, "Would it feel right for you to cast Killing Curses while you dance, I wonder?"

She smiled, and he raised his eyebrows,

"You do not recoil at the suggestion of casting Killing Curses."

"I probably should," Bellatrix admitted, and he nodded.

"You probably should. But you're here because you don't." He huffed a breath, looking her up and down, and his eyes were very strange for a moment. He frowned and asked her, "Your… your birthday is, erm… the first of September?"

"The twenty-first, Master," Bellatrix corrected, and he nodded, looking vaguely disappointed.

"Oh. Right," he said. He aimed his wand at her and said, "Well, seeing as this is neither a hex nor a jinx, you'll be able to do it to yourself on the twenty-first of September, then.  _Scourgify. Scourgify Maxima._ "

Bellatrix was a little embarrassed that she'd been sweaty enough for him to feel compelled to Scour her, until he informed her,

"Put your clothes back on and come down to the dining room. Mr Malfoy would like you to join us for dinner, if you please."

* * *

"So… Miss Black. Our little torture enthusiast." Abraxas Malfoy, a sturdy wizard with ice-blond hair that was cut neatly around his shoulders, smiled over the rim of his glass of white wine. Bellatrix smiled shyly as she took a bite of her quail, and she said,

"Mr Malfoy, I can't properly express my thanks for your agreeing to this arrangement. I've been rescued, truly."

"Oh. Well, it wasn't my doing. Thank your master," Abraxas said firmly, and Voldemort chuckled a little. He ate a bit of his own arugula and quail salad, and he listened as Malfoy asked Bellatrix,

"Have you found the manor comfortable? I certainly hope so, seeing as you aren't going anywhere."

He laughed a little, and Bellatrix nodded vigorously.

"Oh, yes. It's very comfortable. Thank you. Especially my dance studio; I hope Lucius wasn't using that space."

"Dance studio?" Abraxas seemed very surprised, and more than a little amused, and Voldemort said in a bored voice,

"A dance studio. Bellatrix dances ballet; I put some mirrors and a dance barre in the garret room for her."

"Oh. Yes, of course that's fine. No, Lucius has his own rooms, and he's hardly ever here, anyway," Abraxas said. He sawed off some quail, chewed it and washed it down with some white wine, and he said, "Lucius will be home tomorrow from school; exams have finished. But he'll only stay five days or so, and then he'll be off to Wales. He much prefers time with his mother to time with me, I'm afraid."

Bellatrix didn't seem to want to say anything to that, so Voldemort rushed in and reminded her,

"The day after tomorrow, Bellatrix, I have to take you to the Ministry. Your preliminary hearing with your case manager is scheduled for nine o'clock. They'll inspect your wand to be sure you haven't done any magic, and then there will just be a sort of briefing of the terms. It won't last long. I've been given a specialised Portkey we have to use; it goes straight from here to the Ministry. No side trips to Diagon Alley, I'm afraid."

"But how am I meant to live without a good scoop of pistachio ice cream from Florean Fortescue's, Master?" Bellatrix teased, and he tipped his head.

"Well, if you're on your best behaviour, perhaps I shall bring you a scoop sometime. I even know some magic to keep it from melting."

She giggled and bowed her head. "I'll earn it. Promise."

He rolled his eyes, staring at her as she sipped her own glass of water. She had unusual hair, he thought. It was particularly voluminous. He'd seen witches with curly hair, but not usually so silky in this volume, and -

"Who's her case manager, My Lord?" Abraxas Malfoy asked, and Voldemort startled. He cleared his throat, took a large sip of wine, and said,

"Oh. Isadora Stevens. It's the best Yaxley could do."

"Stevens? That crotchety old Half-Blood?" Abraxas snorted. "Well, at least she's  _sort of_  on our side of things."

"She is sympathetic, I'm told, to the idea of Bellatrix having lost her temper," Voldemort said. He gave Bellatrix a meaningful look. "So the story is that you lost your temper."

"Well, that is what happened," she pointed out, and he smirked as he added,

"And it will  _never_  happen again."

"Oh." She grinned. "Right. It will never, ever, ever happen again. Ever. Not ever."

"Subtlety, Miss Black, may do you well, in this particular instance," Voldemort pointed out.

"And what's the explanation to Isadora Stevens as to why Miss Black is here, with you, My Lord?" Abraxas Malfoy asked. Voldemort flicked his eyes to his loyal Death Eater, the man who had been his closest friend in school and then had clung to him when he'd returned as Lord Voldemort from years on the Continent. Malfoy looked a little confused now, and Voldemort shrugged at him as he said,

"Miss Black's temper is exacerbated by a volatile relationship with her parents. You, a friend of her family, have a spacious home with private quarters for her, and I, another friend of her father's, can serve as a mentor to help her channel the darker facets of her magic and learn to control her impulses."

Abraxas looked impressed. "That actually sounds very impressive."

Voldemort threw his hands up and shrugged. "I'm a master storyteller. What can I say?"

"Master? May I be excused?" Bellatrix asked meekly from across the table. Voldemort eyed her, and she was staring doe-eyed at him with an apologetic look in her eye. "I danced a little too much earlier, I think. Didn't stretch properly. Now I'm sore and tired. I think I'd like a good long bath and an early bedtime, if you don't mind."

"Oh. Erm… yes. Go." Voldemort gulped and rose slowly with Abraxas as Bellatrix stood. She nodded and said,

"Thank you again, Mr Malfoy."

"Goodnight, Miss Black," Abraxas said, and Voldemort heard his voice say,

"Night, Bellatrix."

She glanced over her shoulder at him as she left the dining room, and once she'd gone and shut the door, the wizards sat back down, and there was silence for a very heavy moment.

"Master," Abraxas began cautiously, and Voldemort snapped,

"No. Of course not."

There was more silence, and Abraxas sighed and shrugged. "I wouldn't blame you. She's pretty."

Voldemort glared at him. "She's  _sixteen_."

Abraxas gave Voldemort a knowing smile and pointed out, "Not for long."

"Do you know, I think I'm tired, too," Voldemort insisted, flinging himself up from his chair. He scowled down at Abraxas and demanded, "What time does Lucius get in tomorrow?"

"We should be back here around five tomorrow, My Lord," Abraxas said. "Is there still a meeting tomorrow?"  
"No; I'm meeting individually with Nott and Avery about their departments," Voldemort said distractedly. "I don't want big gatherings right now. There's too much going on. I just need everyone set to their given tasks, giving me information in smaller meetings."

"Quite right." Malfoy folded his hands on the table and asked, "Did you not want dessert tonight, Master? I'd had Dobby cook up some crème brûlée."

"No. I just want to… I'm going to go read and go to bed." Voldemort sighed and tried not to think of Bellatrix dancing, twisting her body, whirling through the room, aiming her wand at the mirror, jutting her arm out ferociously as though she were in the midst of battle. He shut his eyes, shook his head, and scolded Abraxas Malfoy,

"No. Obviously not. Her birthday isn't until the twenty-first of September, Abraxas. What a disgusting thing to… your son is coming home tomorrow. Why don't you focus on that? Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Master," said Abraxas, as Voldemort stalked briskly from the dining room.

**Author's Note: Oh, Bellatrix. Going and teasing poor Voldemort without even meaning to. Now we get to see Tiny!Lucius and see Voldemort be Bellatrix's legal guardian on a trip to the Ministry. This should be fun. *rubs hands together***


	4. Stretching

"Lucius. I didn't see you when you got home yesterday." Bellatrix shut the door of her suite behind her. Lucius Malfoy, his hair yanked back into a little ponytail, approached her in his lightweight green robes that had been tailored just so, and he said haughtily,

"We didn't come straight home. Made a few stops in Diagon Alley after the train got in."

"Oh. Lucky you," Bellatrix sighed. She didn't like that Lucius was the same height as her, despite being nearly five years younger, but there was nothing to be done about that. He was a boy, and she was short. So she looked right in his glacial blue eyes, and she asked seriously, "How's Cissy?"

Lucius' features darkened. "I sat with her on the Hogwarts Express," he said. "She's… still not taking it too well. Andy's not exactly sympathetic."

"No. She never is." Bellatrix sighed. "At least my parents are taking the girls on a proper holiday."

"Yes, that's what Narcissa said," Lucius nodded. "The wizarding resort on Menorca. That'll be nice. Narcissa didn't seem too enthused. She said she didn't know how a family was meant to take a holiday with part of the family missing."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes and said, "Do me a favour, Lucius, will you? Ask your mum to take you to my parents' house a few times this summer. Just spend some time with Cissy. Play Gobstones or something. Have our parents take you both to Diagon Alley and just eat some ice cream with her. Please. I'm asking you as a personal favour."

Lucius smirked a little and said, "Spending time with Narcissa is pleasant for me. I'd do it without you asking, Bellatrix. Just the same, I'll make you a promise. Once a month, at the very least, I'll visit Narcissa in person. And every week, I'll write to her. I'll make her smile this summer. Promise."

Bellatrix tousled Lucius' perfectly coiffed hair and laughed a little. "You're a good boy, Lucius."

"Bellatrix!" Lucius seemed scandalised, which just made Bellatrix laugh more.

"Portkey leaves in exactly seven minutes," said a voice, and as Bellatrix whirled around, Lucius descended into a deep and reverential bow and murmured in a cracked, pubescent voice,

"My Lord."

"Ready, Bellatrix?" Voldemort threw up an eyebrow, and she nodded as she trotted off with him, tossing a  _see you_  over her shoulder toward Lucius. She knew that the specialised Portkey that would cart her and Voldemort off to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was waiting in his office, so she followed him wordlessly down the stairwell. As they walked through the corridor, he glanced over her, and she asked,

"Do I look sufficiently remorseful, Master?"

He laughed a little and said, "You look mature and modest, just how the Ministry likes its witches."

Bellatrix had chosen a black blouse with a high lace neck and long lace sleeves over a raw silk bodice, along with a matching black raw silk pencil skirt. She had on simple flat black shoes, and she'd pulled her curls into a loose chignon at the nape of her neck. She eyed Voldemort's attire, which was severe and intimidating; he'd opted for steel grey robes in a high quality, summer weight wool with frightening-looking metal clasps. He certainly looked like an authority figure. As they walked into his office, Bellatrix paused, feeling nauseated, and she leaned a little onto the back of a chair.

"Are you unwell?" Voldemort snapped, and she muttered,

"Nervous."

"You'll be fine," he told her. "Just let me do the talking. Only speak when you've been asked a question. Be polite. This is not an interrogation; you are not on trial."

"Right." Bellatrix felt like she was hyperventilating, like the room was spinning. She shut her eyes, and she heard Voldemort say,

"This Portkey leaves in one minute, and you look like you're going to faint. Take a deep breath."

"Sorry." Bellatrix opened her eyes, surprised to see him standing in front of her. He shocked her then by touching the knuckle of his index finger beneath her chin, tipping her face up until she was looking right at him. He locked his gaze onto hers, and she felt her breath slow, felt her nausea abate. He nodded and said again,

"You'll be fine, Bellatrix."

"Yes, Master," she whispered. His hand fell from her chin then, slowly, as though he were afraid to frighten her. He sighed and turned, moving purposefully toward his desk, and he glanced to the clock on the wall. As the second hand ticked by, Bellatrix gathered herself, unable to keep from staring at Voldemort's face. He was handsome, she found herself thinking. A little broken, perhaps, by some chisel that she didn't know, but still handsome. She admired him. She wanted to -

"Right," he said. "Here we go. Three, two, one."

Bellatrix put her fingers onto the cube on the desk, a heavy black metal box with the Ministry's  _M_  on each of the sides. These were special, reusable devices for the explicit use of transporting people from house arrest to probation hearings, Bellatrix had been told. Most people didn't even know they existed. It would be reprogrammed at the Ministry to bring them back to Malfoy Manor. No side trips to Diagon Alley.

Bellatrix felt queasy even during the pinching, stretching, squeezing travel, which lasted only a few seconds but felt like an eternity. And when she landed, she cried out in confusion, disoriented and dizzy. She felt herself being hauled up off the ground by strong arms, and she heard Voldemort murmur,

"Come on up; can't have half the Auror force studying your knickers."

" _What?_ " Bellatrix scrambled up then, and she looked around to see that she was in a black-tiled hallway, with a few middle-aged wizards chuckling at how clumsily she'd landed. One of them wolf-whistled, and Bellatrix felt her cheeks go hot. Voldemort scowled at the wizards as they went by, and Bellatrix yanked frantically at the hem of her skirt. She felt for a moment like she would cry with humiliation, but she shoved that feeling away and cleared her throat.

"Sorry," she whispered. "I've only gone by Portkey a few times."

"It's fine," Voldemort said very firmly, but he glared back at the wizards who had laughed and whistled at Bellatrix again, as if he were taking note of their faces. He led her down the corridor toward a desk at the end, where a very cranky-looking witch set down her coffee and drolled,

"Checking in?"

Voldemort handed over the specialised Portkey and said crisply, "Tom Riddle and Bellatrix Black. We've a nine o'clock appointment with Isadora Stevens."

The witch behind the desk slurped from her coffee and looked over the reading glasses she wore on a long chain, studying the ledger before her. She pointed a red fingernail at a line and nodded.

"Mm-hmm. All right. Take this visitor's pass," she said, picking up a small card and handing it to Voldemort. "Return it here when you've finished your meeting and retrieve your return Portkey. Do  _not_  let the convict out of your sight."

"You hear that?" he mumbled rather playfully at Bellatrix. "Don't go running."

She smirked a little, but the witch behind the desk did not seem amused. She aimed her red fingernail down the corridor to her right, to a smaller hallway with a sign above it that said  _Probationary Offices_ , and she said,

"Mrs Stevens is the second office on the left. Her door is open. Good luck."

"Good luck?" Bellatrix hissed as they walked away from the desk, and Voldemort shrugged.

"It'll be fine," he said again. Bellatrix shook her head and tried not to be sick on the Ministry's perfectly mopped floors. At the second door on the left, Bellatrix followed Voldemort over the threshold, and they were greeted by a witch with a very severe, braided grey hairstyle and a low, dark orange hat. She wore matching burnt orange robes with a gaudy turquoise brooch, and when she spoke, her voice was reedy and odd.

"Mr Riddle. Miss Black. My name is Isadora Stevens. Do sit down."

Everyone sat, and Mrs Stevens moved with a distinct lack of emotion as she opened a file, pulled out some parchments, inked up a quill, and said,

"Mr Riddle. I have heard many things about you. Some good, some bad, some difficult to believe."

"It is fascinating, all the things one hears over the years," Voldemort said lightly. Mrs Stevens flicked her honey-coloured eyes to Bellatrix and said,

"As for you. An interesting case. An abject lack of temper control and a predilection for Dark magic, it would seem. But of course, we are not here for an interrogation. You have already entered your plea bargain, Miss Black. We are here to discuss the terms of your arrangement."

Bellatrix just nodded, remembering that Voldemort had instructed her to speak only when she'd been asked a question. But then Mrs Stevens went and asked her a question.

"Are you aware, Miss Black, that you are strictly forbidden from performing so much as a Levitation Charm before your seventeenth birthday in September?"

"Yes. I'm aware, ma'am," Bellatrix nodded, and Mrs Stevens held out her bony hand.

"Surrender your wand for inspection."

Bellatrix frowned, but she reached into the wand holster beside her pencil skirt and pulled out her wand. She put it into the palm of Mrs Stevens' hand and watched as the elder witch placed the wand onto a cradle-like device that immediately glowed blue, then faded to a dimmer purple light. Mrs Stevens touched her own wand to a circle on the base of the device and said, as though reading something in her mind,

"Twelve and three-quarters inches, walnut, dragon heartstring. I can see that no spells have been performed since the wand's last inspection. Thank you."

She picked the wand up and passed it back to Bellatrix, who breathed a sigh of relief as she tucked it away again. Mrs Stevens then asked,

"Are you familiar with the distinction between Jinxes, Hexes, and Curses, Miss Black?"

Bellatrix tried not to give a snarky response. She tried not to reply that any first-year Mudblood was familiar with the difference. Instead, she just smiled a little and nodded. Mrs Stevens reached into a drawer in her desk, pulled out a thin, leather-bound book that looked quite new, and held it up. Bellatrix read the cover -  _Jinxes, Hexes, and Curses._

"This," said Mrs Stevens very condescendingly, "Is a book listing every single Jinx, Hex, and Curse known to the British Ministry of Magic. It is your responsibility, Miss Black, to memorise every single spell, because they are all completely forbidden to you under the terms of your arrangement, even after you come of age. At your next meeting in three months' time, you will be administered a written exam to ensure that you are very aware of what spells will earn you a sentence in Azkaban Prison."

She passed the book to Voldemort and said sharply,

"Mr Riddle. Make time to work carefully with your ward on memorising the forbidden spells and ensuring she does not… lose her temper… once she is allowed use of magic again. Use of any spell in this book will mean a prison sentence, and her wand will be tested for all of them. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," Bellatrix nodded. Voldemort put the book in his lap, and Mrs Stevens asked him,

"Mr Riddle, what is your plan to ensure that Miss Black learns to prevent committing another crime like the one she did at Hogwarts? As her legal guardian in this arrangement, her remedial studies are your responsibility."

"Yes. The plan is to train - that is, to have discussion-based therapy sessions - which centre around mock arguments and disagreements, upsetting stimuli, and potential triggers for anger or anxiety. We will work carefully to develop strategies to handle these situations without resorting to violence or Dark magic. I will, of course, provide write-ups on these methods and outcomes to the Ministry at each of Miss Black's meetings."

Mrs Stevens seemed exceptionally pleased with that response, and Bellatrix found herself very impressed. Voldemort certainly seemed like a calm and able legal guardian, she thought, for a furious little criminal like herself.

"Miss Black, just a few questions about your house arrest arrangements," Mrs Stevens said, pulling out a checklist. She read the first line and then glanced up. "Do you have access to adequate clothing, shoes, and toiletries?"

Bellatrix frowned. "Yes, ma'am."

Mrs Stevens ticked the box beside that line. "Have you been made very aware of the physical boundaries of your house arrest, and are you aware of the penalties for leaving these boundaries?"  
"Yes, ma'am," Bellatrix answered. She responded to other questions, trying not to reply to an inquiry about sufficient nutrition by describing her quail salad. She assured Mrs Stevens that she had plenty of leisure time and was not being forced to perform slave labour. Finally, Mrs Stevens asked,

"Do you feel there is any threat to your sexual well-being at this time?"

There was silence then, and Bellatrix choked out a nervous laugh.

"What? No." She glanced over to Voldemort, who dragged his thumb over the cover of the book in his lap. Mrs Stevens eyed him for a moment, and then she stared at Bellatrix and asked softly,

"So you feel quite safe in your arrangements, Miss Black?"

"Yes!" Bellatrix was anxious now, and she wanted to leave. She wanted to go back home, to Malfoy Manor. She was itching to dance, all of a sudden. Mrs Stevens cleared her throat, ticked the box beside the last line on her checklist, glanced between Bellatrix and Voldemort, and gave them a sickly sort of smile.

"Well," she said, "I think everything's in order. They'll get you settled with your Portkey back to Malfoy Manor at the desk out front. You've got your visitor's pass? Very well. Good day."

* * *

Voldemort knocked on the door jamb of the dance studio he'd jury rigged for Bellatrix, but it was obvious she couldn't hear him over the rock music that was blaring on the Wireless. She was facing away from him, sitting on the ground in tights and a leotard and airy pink wrap skirt, her legs spread impossibly wide with her arms splayed on the ground in a stretch. She was humming along; she knew this song. But as Voldemort stepped into the studio, he aimed his wand at the radio and decreased the volume substantially. Bellatrix glanced over her shoulder and made a move to stand, but Voldemort said,

"Sorry to disturb you. Don't stop; if you don't mind, I'll just sit and we'll talk."

"Oh. That's fine, Master. I'm just stretching. All this time since the incident, you know, I've… I've rather lost my limber, as it were." Bellatrix reached her arms out again, her stomach pressing against the floor as she folded herself in a way that seemed utterly impossible to Voldemort. He went to the wall opposite the mirrors and slid down, drumming his fingers on his knee as he told her,

"I've come to tell you that you did well today at the Ministry. That's all, really."

"Oh. Thank you. I was so nervous." Bellatrix stood, moving as though it were nothing to get out of a position like she'd been in. She went over to the barre and lifted one leg up, pointing her foot atop the wood.

"Well. I made this arrangement rather selfishly," Voldemort reminded her. "I want you as a soldier. So I need you to do well for them. I just wanted to express my… satisfaction."

"Satisfaction." Bellatrix smirked at him in the mirror, blowing a stray curl from her eyes, and Voldemort shrugged as he laughed a little. She switched legs, lowering her right one and lifting her left one up onto the barre. She tipped her head and asked, "However did you figure out how to build this barre, Master?"

"Oh, you know." He pursed his lips. "Wood Conjuring spells. Lathing. A bit of metal working. I looked at some paintings of ballet. It wasn't difficult."

Bellatrix lowered her leg and leaned back against the barre, staring at him in disbelief. She shook her head.

"Not difficult," she repeated. "You made  _this_ based on paintings, and it's 'not difficult'? You're a genius, Master."

He scoffed and shook his head. "You flatter me, Bella."

He froze then, realising he'd never called her that shortened name. His throat felt strange. Tight. He shut his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, he couldn't help but laugh at her a little. She had one hand on the barre, and she'd pulled one leg up behind her, using her other hand to hold it up. Her legs were in a straight line from one another; she was bent in a way no human should bend.

"How the blazes do you contort yourself like that?" he demanded, and she giggled a bit. He beckoned to her and reached into his robes for his wand as she came trotting over. He touched the ground beside him and said, "Sit."

She did, and as she folded herself up beside him, he informed her,

"I've got a workaround for this whole 'No Jinxes, Hexes, and Curses' bit."

"You mean I don't have to memorise that horrid book?" Bellatrix's eyes were wide, and Voldemort laughed. He shook his head and told her.

"Sorry. You've got a written exam to pass. We'll be studying that book backward, forward, and inside out. I need this plan to work, remember? No. This workaround involves your training. Once you come of age, I'll want to work with you on duelling. I'd like to see you out in Malfoy's piddly little garden doing some mock battles, putting those twists and turns and leaps to use. The only problem, obviously, is that you can't use your wand."

"That is a problem," Bellatrix agreed seriously. Voldemort turned his yew wand around in his hands and murmured,

"Well, it would be a problem, except that your legal guardian happens to be  _very_  skilled with wandless magic, and happens to be in possession of a wand."

Bellatrix looked awed then. She grinned and said, "So, we'll practise duels… as in, battle-style duels… and you'll use wandless spells, and I'll use your wand? Master?"

"Mmm-hmm." He handed the wand over, curious for some reason to see what it would look like in her hand. But as soon as she took it, his breath hitched strangely. It was too intimate, he realised at once, seeing her fingers curl around the handle of his wand. It was an extension of his body, as all wands were for all wizards, and the way she was touching it, staring at it…

He snatched it back, clearing his throat as he tucked it away, and he said firmly,

"Of course, none of that matters until you come of age. I interrupted your stretching. And your rock music. I'll go."

"You don't have to go," Bellatrix said, giving him a shy little smile, and he nodded as he mumbled,

"No, actually I… I do. I have work to do. Anyway. Well done today. See you."

He heaved himself up to his feet, and as he walked quickly out of the studio, he whipped his wand back out and flicked it at the Wireless, turning the volume back up.

**Author's Note: I am just having entirely too much fun with this one, and I have way too many things planned for these two in this storyverse. Mwah hahaha. Thank you so, so, so much to the readers who have come along for this ride. For those leaving feedback, THANK YOU for the encouragement as I write this one.**


	5. Draconifors

"So, Cygnus, whilst the ladies have tea, let's you and I talk business." Voldemort sat at his desk, and Cygnus sat opposite him, still looking flushed from the heat outside. He smiled a little as he sat, and he said,

"First of all, sir, I have to thank you for all of this. For this arrangement. Bellatrix actually seems… well, she seems  _happy_ , and she's never been a happy girl."

"Well, people are generally happiest when allowed to be themselves," Voldemort noted. He shrugged. "Bellatrix has a dance studio here, and she's been working hard over the last month learning about the principles of battle."

Cygnus frowned a bit, shifting in his chair. "Forgive me, sir, but I thought she was prohibited from any -"

"Jinxes, hexes, or curses. Yes, well. It's a long story. Anyway. There will be battles, Cygnus. You know that. And I will need soldiers. And Bellatrix has a stronger fighting instinct than I have ever seen in another human being. So, yes, I think she is happy here. How was Menorca?"

Cygnus seemed happy to discuss that. He grinned and said, "Well, the girls are all tanned like leather. Spent days and days out on the sand. It was soothing. We all needed it, after what happened with Bellatrix. But… on the order of business at hand… when I came home, I did talk to Orion. He's being stubborn, I'm afraid. He supports the general cause, but he won't sign onto anything. Won't donate money, won't put quill to parchment. But he's an ally."

"I don't want peripheral allies," Voldemort said firmly. "Work harder to bring him in fully. And Alphard?"

Cygnus winced and shook his head. "Alphard's a full-blown liability, I'm afraid."

"Well," Voldemort said cautiously, "I'm well aware of the family tree, but we can't have liabilities. Keep an eye on that situation. In the meantime, pester your father for another donation. I know he's got another three thousand to throw my way this month. Tell him I've been thinking fondly of him."

Cygnus smirked. "I'll do that, My Lord. If there's nothing else, I should get the girls home. Druella gets so emotional, and after a few hours with Bellatrix, well…"

"Yes. We'll meet again soon," Voldemort said, rising from his chair and escorting Cygnus out of his office.

* * *

"Thank you for letting my family come to visit, Master," Bellatrix said as she and Voldemort walked out toward the creek. He frowned down at her in the lazy heat of the late afternoon and noted,

"It would seem particularly cruel not to allow family visits. And, anyway, I had a meeting scheduled with your father that would have happened with or without your illegal use of torture against a fellow student."

Bellatrix laughed a bit at that, and as they neared the creek, she spread the blanket she was carrying out on the plush grass. She was getting comfortable here, she thought. It was beginning to feel almost like home here, after a full month's time. She and Voldemort had come out here after her family's departure to study her memorisation work from the book the witch at the Ministry had given her. Bellatrix eyed the red and white checked blanket she'd spread out, and she asked,

"Is it all right if I lie on my back and make a weak attempt at trying to mimic my sisters' tans from Menorca?"

Voldemort snorted a laugh and teased her, "Good luck. We're in Wiltshire and it's four o'clock in the afternoon. By all means, you lie down."

Bellatrix did, arranging herself carefully since she was wearing a short dress of thin black cotton. She let her curls sprawl out around her head, and she shut her eyes and tried to arrange her limbs so that her pasty skin was exposed to the afternoon sun.

"Am I tanned yet?" she asked, and she heard Voldemort's voice from where he'd sat beside her,

"Positively toasted. Ready to be quizzed?"

"Ready," Bellatrix affirmed. She breathed in, listening to the birds and the insects and the sound of the creek gurgling by, and she murmured, "This is peaceful."

"I have to quiz you," Voldemort reminded her. "I'm your legal guardian, and you're a criminal who's in big trouble, and you have to memorise all these incantations, or else. So stop listening to the pretty nature sounds."

She was giggling raucously by then, and she shaded her eyes as she squinted to look at him. He'd taken off his outer robe due to the heat, and he'd come out here in a cream collarless shirt, suspenders, and brown woolen trousers. His hair was tousled a little by the breeze, and suddenly he was achingly attractive. Bellatrix's stomach twisted strangely, and she found herself shifting a little where she lay.

She wanted him.

That realisation came over her like a tidal wave, like the smack of a hand to her cheek. He was handsome, and he'd made her a dance studio, and he was the only one who wasn't angry or frightened by her use of an Unforgivable. He was staring right at her, and she was staring back, and she wanted him. She felt a flush of wet between her legs, felt her knickers go damp, and she gasped a little. She wrenched her eyes shut, turned her face away from him, and focused on the feel of the sun on her skin.

"I'm ready," she told him. She heard him clear his throat then, and his voice was low and serious as he said,

"I'll give you an incantation, and you tell me whether it's for a Jinx, a Hex, a Curse, or a harmless spell. Let's begin.  _Oppugno._ "

"Jinx," Bellatrix said, her voice trembling. She folded her hands over her stomach, trying not to see his face in her mind. She barely heard him as he said,  
"Correct. What about  _Colloshoo_?"

"Hex," Bellatrix said numbly. There was a pause, one that felt unnaturally long, and then finally Voldemort said,

" _Crucio_."

Bellatrix didn't answer. They both knew the answer to that one. He was taunting her, however gently. After a long time, he mumbled,

" _Draconifors._ "

"Harmless Transfiguration," Bellatrix sighed. She heard the book that Voldemort was holding shut, and he asked her seriously,

"Have you got them all memorised?"

"Yes, Master," she said honestly. She kept her eyes shut as she promised him, "I'm going to pass that written exam, because you need me to do well for them. Because this plan is not designed for my comfort; it is designed to allow me to become your soldier. And so I will get a perfect score on that exam. I promise you."

She turned her face toward him again, and she sat up slowly, leaning back a little on her hands. She blinked her eyes open and stared at him, her curls blowing around her in the breeze that was picking up a little. He looked almost angry, and he tapped his fingertips on the book as he muttered,

"Forgot to tell the damned House-Elf what I wanted for dinner tonight."

"Oh. We should probably go back, then," Bellatrix said, but he didn't move. Finally Voldemort cleared his throat and said,

"Those little therapy sessions I mentioned to the Ministry. We have to actually begin those. You do need to learn to control yourself."

Bellatrix felt mildly offended. She didn't feel out of control. Not like she'd been at Hogwarts. But she nodded and said,

"Of course. When do we start?"

"Tomorrow," he said firmly. "Tomorrow in your dance studio, at ten. We need an open space to work. Just trust me; I have a plan."

"I trust you, Master," Bellatrix said softly, and suddenly his face was strange. She wanted to jump into the creek then, just to escape the sensation that her skin was crawling, that she was coming alive in a way that she couldn't measure. Perhaps she wasn't in control of herself, after all.

"Right. Therapy tomorrow," she nodded. "Learning to control myself. I need that, I think. Let's go inside; it's so dreadfully hot, and you need to give your dinner order to the House-Elf."

* * *

She shouldn't be here.

Bellatrix was going to see him at ten o'clock, which was only eight hours from now. So she had no good reason for coming downstairs in only a nightgown and a black lace dressing-gown, which was a bit too romantically cut even for Bellatrix's tastes. It had been a gift from her mother, and its draping sleeves and train were a bit dramatic. But it covered her up. That shouldn't matter, Bellatrix reminded herself; she shouldn't be down here. It was two in the morning, and she had no reason to be anywhere but her own suite.

But here she was, wringing her hands and pacing frantically, half of her mind trying to wrench her fist up to his door, and the other half of her mind trying to force her feet back to the staircase. She panted a little as she paced, and she heard a portrait behind her ask another painting,

"Do you suppose the girl's all right?"

"I'm fine," Bellatrix whispered, knowing the portraits couldn't hear her.

Suddenly she jumped, because the door leading to Lord Voldemort's suite opened, and he was standing there in what appeared to be a full set of grey flannel pyjamas covered by a plush green dressing gown. His eyes bugged out a little as he appraised what Bellatrix was wearing, and he coughed quietly before he asked,

"Is there… do you need something?"

"Hello," she said, sounding like an idiot to her own ears. He narrowed his eyes.

"It's two in the morning," he noted. "Is something wrong?"

"Oh," she nodded. "Erm… I… couldn't sleep."

That was not a lie, strictly speaking, though of course it was hardly an excuse for coming down to his rooms. But Voldemort did not look as though he were confused anymore, for some reason, and he licked his lip slowly, appearing to consider options only he could see. He finally nodded once, crisply, apparently having convinced himself of something, and he opened his door wider as he said,

"I've got Dreamless Sleep. One drop will give you a few hours' rest so you're in good shape for our work in the morning. Why don't you come in and I'll give you a dose? You'll have to head back downstairs quickly after taking it; I don't want you to trip on the stairs."

Bellatrix was a little shocked at having been invited inside, but she scuttled over the threshold like a frightened animal and let Voldemort shut the door behind her. She asked carefully,

"How did you know I was out there, Master?"

"Oh. I was up reading, and I saw the shadows of your feet moving back and forth outside my door." He gave her a mirthless sort of smile, and he picked up a book from the sofa in the sitting room where they now stood. "It's all right; I was reading about the history of alchemy, and this particular text is incredibly dry. I needed an excuse to stop reading anyway. I'll go to bed when you do."

"Your rooms are just like mine, only different colours," Bellatrix noticed, looking around at the deep red furnishings. He smirked and nodded.

"Yes. They're right above yours. Same layout."

"Oh. That makes sense." Suddenly she realised that he slept directly above her, and she felt her cheeks go hot. She watched him move over to an apothecary cupboard in the corner of the room, and as he rifled through his potions stores, she mumbled, "I'm sorry for bothering you, Master."

"No. I don't mind." He shut the cupboard and approached her with a little blue glass bottle and a glass-and-rubber dropper. He sighed and said again, "As soon as you take the dose, you'll have to go, because I don't want you -"

"Falling down the stairs," she nodded, smiling up at him. She couldn't move then. She could hardly breathe. He was so handsome just now, even more handsome than he'd been down by the creek. She didn't see whatever chisel, whatever blur had been there before. She only saw the sharpness of his eyes and the angle of his jaw. She was suddenly very aware of how powerful he was, of how he could charm everyone around him. She was taken back to dancing with her wand in her hand, eyeing him in the mirror, to smiling at him across the dinner table during a conversation.

She wanted him.

"I meant to ask you," he said, sounding almost nervous, "I intended on asking you when your family was here and I forgot. Would you like… erm… would you like to have a little dinner party for your birthday? It'll just be Malfoy and your parents and you and me, but… well, it's… it's your seventeenth. People tend to make rather a grand affair of seventeenth birthdays. We can't let yours glide by unnoticed just because you're stuck here."

Bellatrix felt her eyes well for some reason, and she nodded frantically. "Yes. That would be very nice. Thank you, Master."

"Well. Start thinking about a menu," he said, almost authoritatively, and Bellatrix laughed a little as she tipped her head.

"It's two months away."

He cleared his throat roughly and insisted, "You'd be surprised how quickly two months can fly by when you're looking forward to something. Really. You should plan a menu."

Suddenly she understood. She watched his throat bob, watched his fingers tremble around the bottle of Dreamless Sleep, and she understood. She nodded seriously at him and said,

"Yes. I'll begin drawing up plans immediately. Because it'll be September so quickly, Master. Before you know it, it'll be the twenty-second of September and the party will be over, you know?"

"Mmm-hmm." He nodded and unscrewed the bottle of Dreamless Sleep with shaking fingers. He put the dropper in, and it rattled against the glass of the bottle. She was surprised to see him take a drop himself, and then he held the dropper out to Bellatrix. She let one drop fall onto her tongue, and she felt a powerful urge to seize his face in her hands as she whispered again,

"I'm sorry for bothering you."

"No. You're not a bother," he said firmly. "See you at ten in the dance studio. Lots of work to do. Go. Please do not fall on the stairs."

He turned away then, back toward the apothecary cabinet, and as Bellatrix turned to go, she said over her shoulder,

"Goodnight, My Lord."

As she pulled the door shut, she heard him say softly after her,

"Night, Bella."

**Author's Note: Oh, dear. He may not hold the law in high regard, but he's not a pervert. Now… let's get down to business *sings "Be a Man" from Mulan***


	6. Monkey

"Oh. Oh, my. What have you done to my dance studio, Master?"

He smirked as Bellatrix came walking into the room, upon which he had used powerful Transfiguration magic until it resembled a forest. It would all fade away in a few hours - the branches and leaves, the boulder in the centre of the space, the moss and springy earth upon the wood floors. Voldemort said seriously to Bellatrix,

"Welcome to therapy. There will be a report made to the Ministry on your progress today, so I suggest you follow my instructions closely."

She grinned, knowing damned well that they were not going to do anything like what he'd claimed to Isadora Stevens. Voldemort narrowed his eyes at Bellatrix and said,

"I liked what you were doing that day, when you were dancing and aiming you wand at the mirror. I want to see you move through this space and keep your wand trained on me. Don't cast any spells; you're not allowed. Later, when you've got my wand and I'm working wandlessly, we'll practise things like Shield Charms and attacking spells. But right now, I just want you to move, and to keep that wand aimed square at my chest."

Bellatrix nodded. She'd come dressed for anything, he could see; she was wearing black tights and leg warmers, along with tight black shorts and a black leotard with a little cardigan over it. She pulled off the cardigan and tossed it aside, revealing most of her chest and arms, and Voldemort tried not to pay attention to that. He stepped back and flicked his wand at the Wireless, and Bellatrix smiled at the swing music that began to play.

"Music to move by," he told her. "No stuffy Russian ballet today, Miss Black."

"Right," she said, rolling her shoulders. "I haven't stretched."

He laughed. "You won't be able to stretch before a battle, either."

"True." She suddenly leaped into the forest he'd created, hopping over the miniature spring, aiming her wand and her face over her shoulder. She kept her wand squarely pointed at Voldemort's chest as she landed, light as a cat on her feet, and she crawled beneath her barre, which was covered in ivy. She swung one leg elegantly up onto the ivy, still aiming her wand at Voldemort, and then she tipped her head back and arched her spine, touching her toe to her head.

"Very impressive," Voldemort said, noticing that she still had her wand aimed at him. The music from the Wireless kicked up in tempo, and she seemed to take the hint. Bellatrix did a backward somersault, elegant as ever, keeping her wand expertly pointed at Voldemort as she hopped up and clutched at the thick branch in the middle of the room with her left hand. He watched in wonder as she swung up, and he was amazed by her physical strength given her small size. Even with how little she weighed, he was impressed by her ability to haul herself up with only one arm, and he called out,

"You look like a monkey."

"A monkey ready to cast a Killing Curse!" she yelled back, her wand aimed at him from the branch where she crouched. She leaped out of the partially-constructed tree, her wand steady as ever, trained on Voldemort's chest, and she seemed to be getting a little breathless as she scrambled up onto the boulder and began to twirl herself in circles  _en pointe_. Somehow, even on the uneven surface of the rock, she spun in perfect rotations, her right leg steady and vertical as her left foot slammed against the boulder to propel her round. Her face whipped quickly to spot him, her mouth scowling in concentration. Her left arm curled in front of her for balance, and her right arm continuously found him, her wand snapping to his chest every time that she turned. After a few rotations, she leaped with exquisite grace across the tiny spring in the floor, and she landed just in front of Voldemort with her feet in a T shape, her ballet shoes snapped tightly together. She jabbed her wand against his robes, and he felt his mouth fall open in shock.

He watched her small chest heave as she panted, staring up at him with a crooked, playful smile. He plucked her wand from her hand, twirling it and giving it back, and he told her,

"That is a skill set I've never seen used in combat, I'll admit. The Battle Ballerina."

"I like the label," Bellatrix nodded. Voldemort sighed, realising he'd come to the part of this session he'd been dreading. He had to make her break down now. He had to make her snap.

"Well. I wish that I could do more," he said, "but some things are beyond my control. Dumbledore has extended his influence. I'm sorry. I…"

"What?" Bellatrix lowered her wand, still panting. Voldemort slowly aimed his wand at the Wireless and turned down the volume, finally turning it all the way off, and he huffed a breath, squeezing the bridge of his nose.

"Albus Dumbledore, as it turns out, has a lot of influence in the Wizengamot. I'm sorry. I tried. The sentence in Azkaban will begin after your birthday and will likely only last a few years. When you get out, you can fight for me."

"Sentence," Bellatrix repeated, her face going grey. She shook her head. The Transfigurations in the room started to dissolve, to give way, and the normal dance studio came back into being. Voldemort felt sick lying to her like this. He normally didn't mind lying one bit; it was how he operated. But he did not like this lying, for some reason. He gulped and nodded.

"I got a letter from the Ministry," he said. "The Aurors will be here in an hour to take you away."

"Oh." She looked like she was going to collapse. Her eyes went heavy with unshed tears, and then suddenly she straightened her back, tipped her chin up, held her wand out to Voldemort, and said bravely, "Thank you so very much for trying, Master. I promise that as soon as my sentence is over, I will serve you very loyally."

Voldemort couldn't believe what he was seeing, what he was hearing. He stared at the wand she was holding out for him. Shouldn't she be crying? Shouldn't she be clutching at his robes, begging him to do something, not to let them drag her away? Shouldn't she be enraged, breaking mirrors and violating the law again by using magic? But here she was, sweaty from the training he'd made her do, stoic with a steady lip, telling him that she would serve him as soon as they released her.

"Bellatrix," he whispered, and he closed her fingers around her wand. He shook his head and admitted, "No one is coming to get you. That was… I was testing your reaction to…"

Realisation came over her face, and then relief, and as she blinked quickly, her eyes released the tears they'd been holding captive. She gasped for breath and nodded, swiping the tears away quickly.

"Oh. It was part of the therapy," she said. "I understand. Wait, so… what is the truth, Master?"

"No one's coming to take you away," he promised her, still shocked by the way she'd reacted to the idea of it. She nodded again, looking shaky and weak, and he suggested, "How about some day drinking?"

She laughed a little and shook her head. "I think I've broken enough laws, Master."

"Oh. Right." He shut his eyes and winced. She couldn't drink. She was underage. He felt enormously frustrated all of a sudden, and he slashed his own wand rather impulsively at the wall, ripping an incision in the wallpaper and making Bellatrix yelp. He stitched it up nonverbally, realising he wasn't setting a very good example for his criminal ward.

"You know," he said in a low voice, "This might be a little easier if you would just behave like a damned child."

She looked enormously confused by that, her fingers moving nervously on her own wand, and Voldemort clarified,

"If you would just behave like a child, then I would feel like a pervert. And if I felt like a pervert, then I could just hate myself. That would be very simple. Easy. But I do not feel like a pervert, Bellatrix. I feel like a man. And you are behaving like a woman. So."

He'd rambled, he knew, and now she was staring up at him with wide, round eyes. He shook his head and mumbled,

"I have work to do. Congratulations; your first therapy session is complete. You did well. I'll send glowing praise to the Ministry. Don't worry; no one's coming to take you away, and you're not going to Azkaban. You've got the rest of the day to yourself."

* * *

" _And if I had Ruth from Hogsmeade, I'd be smelling like a pig! So I'd rather have Cecilia, though she's skinny as a twig!"_

"Abraxas, you'll wake the dead. Certainly, you'll wake the poor little House-Elf. And probably Bellatrix," Voldemort said, crossing his arms over his chest as he stepped out into the corridor. Abraxas, he could see, was extraordinarily drunk. He hissed a laugh and said,

"Sorry, M'Lord. I've just come from the White Wyvern. Had a few too many. Made it here by Side-Along on the arm of a very nice witch who refused to stay. Can't remember her name. She took five Galleons out of my pocket for the trouble of the ride home."

Voldemort rolled his eyes and walked toward Abraxas' quarters, and he followed the other man into his sitting room. Abraxas collapsed onto his sofa and loosened his tie beneath his outer robe kicking off his shoes, and Voldemort sat opposite him in the armchair, knowing that Abraxas was at his best conversational self when he was most drunk.

"How do you make two months go faster?" Voldemort asked, and Abraxas chuckled.

"Time-Turner," he said simply. "I can get you one of those. I know a man in the Department of Mysteries. Why?"

"No; that's a terrible idea." Voldemort touched his forehead, and Abraxas gasped melodramatically.

"Two months? Let's see. What's in two months? Could it be… September? I know a certain just-barely-underaged witch with a specifically seventeenth birthday in September."

He laughed, but then his face went serious when he saw that Voldemort was not at all amused. Abraxas dragged his fingers through his silky blond hair, and he sighed heavily.

"I see the way she looks at you, Master," Abraxas said, almost sorrowfully, "at dinner. She looks at you like you're the sun, like you're the air she needs to breathe. You stare at your food and she stares at you. She smiles at you like you've dosed her with a potion, like you've cast a charm on her. So my advice to you, which is unsolicited and only given because I'm very drunk, is that you need to be careful, My Lord. Because I think that if you were to put one single finger on that girl… well. It wouldn't stop with one finger. And she'd like it, and she'd want more, and she'd make you feel good about taking her."

Voldemort nodded solemnly. He gulped and chomped his lip and said,

"It's only two months."

Abraxas smirked and said, "You know, I think I'll go to the dinner party on her birthday, Master, and then… and then I think I'll spend the night somewhere else."

Voldemort smiled and shook his head. "I'm not going to have her shrieking at midnight, Malfoy."

"No?" Abraxas laughed. "And why not? Goodness knows you'll both have earned it. Just don't include any of that in your Ministry reports, Master."

"No. Certainly not." Voldemort smiled. Then he felt his smile fade, and he told Malfoy very seriously, "I wanted to kiss her last night. She came to my rooms. Said she couldn't sleep. Well, I couldn't sleep, either. And she was  _there_ , staring up at me, her curls in a braid. She was wearing black lace."

"Sounds pretty." Abraxas raised his eyebrows, and Voldemort gave him a warning look. He gulped and remembered the sight of her, how sick and almost  _lonely_  he'd felt, and he told Abraxas,

"I wanted to kiss her. But I didn't. And today she did something I had never seen anyone do before. Ever. She moved like I had never seen anyone move, keeping her wand trained on me whilst she moved around like a damned monkey."

"Ooh. A monkey." Abraxas sounded sleepy, and Voldemort knew he was essentially talking to himself. He didn't care. He didn't need friends. He was just talking now. He nodded vigorously and told Abraxas,

"She's going to be the most incredible soldier… she's going to be terrifying in battle. She's going to kill without a second thought, and she's going to be evasive. And when I threatened her with the idea of her going to prison, she tried to give me her wand and she promised she's serve me when she got out. She is… this is not just some blind lust, Malfoy, you know?"

But Abraxas had passed out, it seemed. His head had lolled to the side, and he was breathing slowly with his eyes shut. Voldemort stood and patted Abraxas' shoulder, and he said sarcastically,

"Good talking with you, Abraxas. Sweet dreams."

He walked out of Malfoy's quarters and back toward his own, and he murmured to himself,

"It's only two months."

**Author's Note: Awww. So Voldemort isn't pervy; he** _**wants** _ **Bellatrix to be of age. But he also doesn't just have some lusty attraction to her body. He's incredibly attracted to her personality (her willingness and proclivity to use violence, as well as her loyalty and eagerness), and he's impressed by her. If that ain't romance, I don't know what is. I promise this is my last chapter for tonight! Sorry for writing six chapters in 24 hours - I am just so incredibly enthusiastic about this story, and I am having trouble pacing myself with writing! To those bothering to leave reviews despite the craaaazy update speed, I just want to tell you that I appreciate you more than you know!**


	7. Cake

Bellatrix swirled her spoon in the remnants of her potato cream soup and sighed. She'd been left alone tonight. Both Abraxas Malfoy and Lord Voldemort had gone to the wedding of Norton Mulciber and Evie Shacklebolt. They'd been joined by the entirety of the Pureblood community. Even Bellatrix's sisters would be there, along with Lucius Malfoy and every other Hogwarts student from a reputable family. Only Bellatrix would be absent, and noticeably so. People would be gossiping about her, she knew. Her mother would be terribly embarrassed, having to fend off questions about Bellatrix's well-being. She set down her spoon and pushed her nearly empty bowl away, and she watched as it vanished into the table through Dobby's House-Elf magic.

"Am I too late for dessert?"

She looked up in surprise to see Lord Voldemort walking into the dining room, looking positively resplendent in his formal tuxedo robes. He was carrying a china plate with a slice of white cake on it, and Bellatrix laughed a little as he approached her.

"Master!" she exclaimed, rising as he came near. He set down the plate in front of her and smirked as he sat in the chair beside her, and she said confusedly, "You've brought me cake."

"I've brought you cake," he confirmed. "Thought you might feel like you were missing out."

Bellatrix's eyes burned as she sat back down, and she stared at him for a moment and said seriously, "Thank you, Master. But I didn't expect you back so early."

"Well, I stayed for the ceremony and the toasts and the meal. Made the social rounds, had all the requisite conversations… but once the evening switched over to dancing and drinking, I left."

Bellatrix used the spoon from the plate to carve into the cake, realising that her master had stolen some china and cutlery. The cake was good, if a little dry, and she smiled as she swallowed the bite. She asked him,

"You didn't want to dance?"

"No, not really," he said, his smile fading. Bellatrix insisted,

"I'll bet all the witches wanted to dance with you, though."

"Well, that doesn't mean I wanted to dance with them," he replied, and Bellatrix decided not to push the matter. She took another bite of the vanilla cake and noted,

"It's a bit dry."

"I thought the same thing," he said, "but figured you'd probably prefer to find out for yourself. You don't have to eat it if you don't like it."

"Yes, I do," she laughed. "You brought it all the way here."

She dug the spoon into the cake again, and Voldemort reached for her hand, laughing.

"Don't eat it if you don't want it," he said again. Bellatrix gratefully set the spoon down and moved her hand to the table, and she asked,

"How was my family?"

"Oh, they were fine," Voldemort said dismissively. "Your mother disliked being asked about you, of course, which was done constantly. I think Lucius Malfoy would ask your father for permission to marry Narcissa tomorrow if he could. I need to take my hand off of yours now."

Bellatrix startled and looked down when he said that, and it was only then that she noticed that his hand was on hers on the table. He'd reached for her when she'd been holding the spoon, and he'd never let go. She swallowed hard, and as he started to pull his hand away, she wrapped her fingers around his and whispered,

"No, please."

"Bella." There was a serious warning in his voice then, a shake in those two syllables that she knew she should obey. But instead, she brushed her thumb back and forth along his palm, being careful to caress instead of tickle. She heard him suck in breath hard, and the next time he said her name, his voice cracked a little. "Bella."

"I'm sorry." She still didn't let him go. She used her fingertips to explore his knuckles, and suddenly he was touching her back, his thumb going along the inside of her wrist. Finally he said firmly,

"No. This stops now," and he pulled his hand gently away from hers. He sighed a little and murmured,

"Do you know, I would have danced tonight, Bellatrix, if you'd been there. I probably would have stayed until they kicked us all out. I'm going to go get these awful tuxedo robes off. Sorry the cake's dry. Goodnight."

* * *

She'd overslept.

Bellatrix had been scheduled to meet with Lord Voldemort in his office at eight o'clock sharp to discuss her readings on the history of necromancy efforts. But it was already half past eight, and she was just now frantically scrubbing her teeth. She couldn't use magic; she had to do everything by hand. So she slathered on roll-on antiperspirant with one hand and finished cleaning her teeth with the other, and she spat out the toothpaste as she heard a voice yell,

"Bellatrix? Are you in here?"

"Master?" She rinsed her mouth quickly in the sink, and she heard him exclaim,

"Bellatrix, where are you?"

"In here!" She went dashing out of the bathroom, into the brown and bronze bedroom… and found herself face-to-face with Lord Voldemort, who looked more than a little flustered. His mouth fell open and his cheeks immediately went scarlet, and Bellatrix knew why. She glanced down, realising that she hadn't finished dressing yet. She still only had on her black cotton bra and knickers.

"Oh." She tried to use her arms to cover herself a bit, but Voldemort turned slowly and said in a voice she knew was full of feigned calm,

"I will be in my office. Meet me there in ten minutes."

"Yes, Master," she said quietly, and she watched him stalk briskly out of her suite.

She practically sprinted through Malfoy Manor once she'd dressed in a simple black wool dress and boots. She made her way to his office and knocked frantically, and the door opened on its own. Bellatrix pattered inside, and Voldemort was standing in the centre of the room. He'd hung his outer robe over the back of his chair, for his window was open and it was very warm outside this morning. He had on a dress shirt and suspenders and a tie, and he looked sharp, but his face gave him away. He was a mess. He gulped and gestured for Bellatrix to approach him. He crossed his arms over his chest, stared down at her, and said,

"I apologise."

"No. It's me who's sorry," she insisted. "I was running so late. I forgot to set the ruddy manual alarm clock. I'm so sorry, Master."

"Bellatrix." He shook his head and shut his eyes. "I am responsible for you. Legally. If I had any reason to believe that you'd left… listen, that's why I came barging into your quarters, you understand? I knocked, but you didn't answer."

"My sink was running," Bellatrix explained apologetically. "I didn't hear you. I'm sorry."

Voldemort sighed. "Still. Even if I had reason to come in there looking for you, I ought to have called for you and stayed in the sitting room. There is no excuse. It was inappropriate. I apologise."

"It's not much worse than you seeing me in my dance leotard," Bellatrix tried, but Voldemort's cheeks went red again, and he said very quietly,

"Lingerie is categorically different than… you know what, it's… this is difficult enough without things like this happening. I am a villain, Bellatrix, but not  _that_  sort of villain. You understand?"

She nodded. Then she pursed her lips, and she asked him gently, "How many days until my birthday, Master?"

He hesitated, as though he didn't want to answer, and then he said, "Fifty-three."

"Fifty-three days," she nodded. She was keeping track, too. She took one step nearer to Voldemort and said, "In fifty-three days, Master, you will be able to do so much more than see me in a bra and knickers."

"Bellatrix!" He looked scandalised, stepping back a bit from her, and she thought perhaps she'd gone too far. The red flush on his cheeks spread down his neck now, and for some reason, Bellatrix heard herself tell him,

"In fifty-three days, Master, you can hold them in your hands. The bra and knickers."

"You need to… you are out of line, Bellatrix." Voldemort licked his bottom lip, looking a little desperate. Bellatrix shrank back a bit and whispered,

"I'm sorry. I was just trying to… are you all right? Master?"

There was a huge lump in the front of his trousers, an insistent sort of bulge that looked very uncomfortable. She'd heard boys talk about being hard in their trousers before, and she'd even heard boys laugh about it, but this looked like some sort of tumour that was rapidly growing, visible through the material of his clothing. Voldemort glanced down and furrowed his brows.

"Yes, of course I'm  _all right_ ," he said disbelievingly. Then he scoffed and said in a rather mocking tone, "Oh, that's right; they teach the boys only about erections in third year and touch on it for the girls in sixth year just so they know what they're getting into. Only you got yourself expelled before the matron's talk."

"What?" Bellatrix felt very confused, and Voldemort's face softened a little. He shrugged and reassured her,

"If a wizard is hard for you, Bella, it just means he wants you. That's all."

"Oh." Bellatrix took another step toward him, reaching out, thinking that if she touched him there like she'd touched his hand, perhaps she might -

"What are you doing?" Voldemort recoiled from her as she neared, and a look of absolute shock came over him as he said, "You have precisely no idea what to do with a wizard, have you?"

Bellatrix's face went hot with embarrassment then, and she shook her head. "N-No, Master. Not really. I mean, I've heard things. Heard people say things. But I didn't really have friends or anything, so…"

"Oh. Bella." Voldemort looked like he was going to be sick. He moved very quickly around his desk and sat, pulling his chair up close to the desk. He huffed out a breath and informed her crisply, "There is a book in the library entitled  _The Witch and the Wizard: Sexual Realities Both Social and Anatomical._  I want you to read it in its entirety. Take notes. If you have specific questions, you may ask them of me, since you will now be deprived of the very rudimentary sexual education Hogwarts provides its students. I have work to do; we will delay our discussion on the history of necromancy for a later time. Dismissed."

He did not seem to leave any room for discussion in the matter. Bellatrix's face was still hot, and she felt dizzy with humiliation as she bowed her head and mumbled,

"Good day, Master."

**Author's Note: Oh, dear. Poor Voldemort. Dude brings cake home, trying to be all nice, then realizes Bellatrix basically barely knows what a penis is. I know I said I was done writing for the day, but, um, this is my brain we're working with here, people. But I really am going to bed right this minute, so… until tomorrow! In the meantime, I'd love to know what you think of the story up to this point! Thanks!**


	8. Pergola

"I knew I'd find you out here." Voldemort smirked as he came out onto the covered pergola behind the manor. It was raining gently, but still very warm, and this was a cosy place with cushioned wicker furniture. He could see Bellatrix curled up on one of the broad wicker sofas, her bare feet up on the ottoman before her, and he was confused when she didn't turn at the sound of his voice. But then, as he approached, he realised she was asleep.

He smiled rather broadly, for she'd dozed off with a cream-coloured throw pillow beneath her curls, leaning up against the wavy side of the wicker furniture. A book was on the cushion beside her -  _The Witch and the Wizard: Sexual Realities Both Social and Anatomical._  Reading and the sound of the rain must've done her in, Voldemort thought. Even he'd gotten drowsy from the pattering through his open window in his office while he'd been writing a thank you letter to Pollux Black for his donation to the cause.

Voldemort sank slowly onto the sofa beside Bellatrix, certain he'd wake her, but she didn't stir. He studied the way that her breath came slowly, the way that her face was so peaceful. His eyes burned a little as he stared out at the rain-covered gardens. This was the third day in a row of rain, and the feeble new rose bushes might drown soon enough.

He and Abraxas had had brandy the night before, and Abraxas had suggested that less than two months was very arbitrary. If Druella Black had gone into labour just a little early, Abraxas had noted, Bellatrix would already be of age. And, anyway, it wasn't as though Voldemort had to rip Bellatrix's clothes off and jab his member straight into her body. There were lesser things to be done, Abraxas had reminded Voldemort. Less insidious things. Voldemort reminded Abraxas that he'd advised Voldemort not to put so much as a finger on Bellatrix, and Abraxas had retorted that that had been the advice of a very drunk man. So now Voldemort was terribly confused, and he scowled as he picked up the book he'd assigned to Bellatrix to read.

She had a bookmark in it, an emerald satin one, and when he opened it, he could see that it was a Slytherin House bookmark. He felt rather sorry for her then. She'd never be a Slytherin again. She'd never get to graduate Hogwarts. It was her own fault, of course. She wasn't just a rule breaker. She was a criminal, and a serious one, at that. The Gryffindor Mudblood she'd tortured had spent four days in the hospital wing and had recovered, but the stain of the crime was there. Voldemort set the Slytherin bookmark down on the cushion beside him and began reading the page where Bellatrix had left off.

_Too often, young witches and wizards make the leap to the end game, as it were, without savouring the myriad steps between kissing and intercourse. One of the best ways of enjoying one another without the risk of pregnancy or disease, and without delving too deeply into serious intimacy, is mutual masturbation. Whilst this idea sounds alternately boring or intimidating, it is merely the concept of touching one another. This can be a standalone activity or can augment other actions. Most of the time, one will caress the partner's genitals as part of the process, but other erogenous zones may be petted and stroked, as well, including the breasts, nipples, ears, neck, and, of course, the mouth._

_Sometimes, people enjoy watching their partner touch themselves whilst they masturbate. The visual stimulus of 'enjoying the view' can be very powerful whilst touching one's own body (an often familiar sensation; see Chapter 3: Masturbation). Other times, people take turns touching one another, or touch one another simultaneously. As we say frequently in this book, always do what feels natural in the moment and what feels pleasurable, whilst remaining safe and ensuring you have your partner's happy consent._

"Studying, Master?"

He dropped the book into his lap, and he watched as Bellatrix slowly pushed herself up from the pillow where she'd been reclining. She reached for the glass of lemonade she had on the table, smiled shyly at him, and she promised,

"I've finished my reading. I'm sorry; the rain was peaceful and I got sleepy."

"I don't blame you," he said, setting the book on the table along with her lemonade. He decided he didn't want to discuss the book just now, and he asked in a tight, formal voice, "Have you thought about the menu? For your little dinner party? Your birthday?"

"Oh. Yes. I discussed it with Dobby yesterday," Bellatrix said with a happy look. "We're going to begin with leeks in vinaigrette, then move on to roast lemon chicken with rosemary potato for the main, and then birthday cake with raspberries on top and sparkling candles. Oh, and a Champagne toast, because I'll be able to legally drink it."

She laughed a little, and he nodded and said firmly, "That is a very good menu. And it is only… what, forty-nine days away?"

Bellatrix's smile faded a little, and she picked at her skirt as she murmured, "I've learnt a lot from that book, Master. I didn't realise what a little fool I was. I think I knew even less than the others around me. I wonder why that is. Because they were all friends with one another, probably, talking about those things."

"Sorry. Forgive me for asking, but… did you not… date?" Voldemort crinkled his nose a little, feeling awkward, and Bellatrix shook her head violently.

"Oh, no," she said. "No. Nobody wanted to date me. They all thought I was evil. Dangerous. There was a joke. A rhyme."

"A rhyme?" Voldemort repeated curiously, and Bellatrix's cheeks went pink as she said quietly,

" _Bellatrix Black, murdered her dolls, she'll hex off your cock and she'll empty your balls. Bellatrix Black, lovely, depraved, she'll fuck you and kill you and dig you your grave._ "

Voldemort scoffed and shook his head, feeling a little confused. "Who sang that little nursery rhyme?"

"Everybody," Bellatrix said seriously, shrugging. "Even Andromeda, till Mum and Dad heard her and punished her. But it was very popular, especially among the Gryffindors. The Gryffindors in our year, erm, in our third year, they came to Potions lessons one day with a certificate they'd made. Looked all formal. It was like a sort of award, and it said,  _Most Likely To Be Administered the Dementor's Kiss in Azkaban._  It had my name on it. They performed this mock ceremony and everything until Professor Slughorn made them stop."

"Did these idiots not realise that they were rather setting themselves aside as your most eligible victims?" Voldemort asked primly, and Bellatrix sighed. She looked around, almost as though she were afraid someone would hear, and she admitted,

"I almost killed one of them after that. After the certificate incident. But I didn't have the strength… the mental strength. Probably not the magic, either, not in my third year. I wanted so badly to kill that Gryffindor boy, Jamie McLaggen. Instead, I researched. I scoured through books in the library until I found the hex I needed. The Interminable Bloody Nose Hex. It took them a week in the hospital wing to get the bleeding to stop. I got six weeks' detention, but I didn't mind one bit."

Voldemort snorted a little laugh, and he told her,

"See, that was purposeful. Not impulsive. You have to do more like that when you're my soldier. You can torture. You can kill. You just have to plan it."

Bellatrix nodded, and then there was a question in her eyes. Finally she asked, "Can I do it someday? Kill him?"

Voldemort smirked. "Who, that Gryffindor boy? The one who bullied you?"

"Yes," Bellatrix whispered, and Voldemort nodded.

"I don't see why not. Sounds like he's earned it. It'll be a test for you, of course. You'll have to plan, and be very careful, and of course you'll have to wait, because you're stuck here for the time being. But, yes, Bellatrix. Someday you can kill Jamie McLaggen because of what he did to you at school. All right?"

She smiled like the sun, and his breath caught. She was grinning -  _grinning_  - because he'd given her permission to murder a bully. He had never met anyone like this girl, not even in his years traveling the Continent, meeting Necromancers and filthy whores and people with the Darkest minds. He'd never met someone who was beautiful and intelligent, warm and cold at once with a mind that craved violence, a soul that crackled and burned for cruelty.

"Bellatrix," he heard his voice say quietly. The rain started to fall a little harder, and so he'd barely heard himself, but she had heard him. She was studying his face, staring up into his eyes, her broad grin having shifted into a different expression.

Want. Desire, longing. Need.

He saw it there, painted plainly in the way her full lips had parted a little, the way her high but rounded cheekbones had coloured. Her hand came up toward his face, and for some bizarre reason, he did not stop her. He shut his eyes and breathed in deeply when her hand came to rest on his chee. He hadn't shaved this morning, he realised suddenly. He'd forgotten. She could feel the start of his scruff beneath her fingers and palm, and he didn't care. His heart was thrumming a tattoo in his chest, and his breath was coming shallow and quick, and when he opened his eyes, she looked drunk.

"Oh," she whispered, nodding a little. She shifted where she sat, edging up toward him on her knees. He should stop her, he thought. He put a hand to her waist, thinking he should push her away, but all that happened was that he informed her,

"I'm not going to take you before your birthday."

"I understand, Master," she whispered, and she moved closer still. She seemed profoundly nervous all of a suddenly, like the day he'd taken her to the Ministry, and her fingers shook on his face. He brought his other hand to her waist, for some reason, thinking distantly about how very  _small_  she was, and he heard her ask, "Are you available this afternoon? For a discussion on the history of necromancy? I'm afraid I'll forget the content if we… erm… if we don't… erm… discuss it soon."

She was breathless now. He shook his head and stammered,

"N-No. I have a few Death Eaters coming in to report to me from their Ministry departments. Sorry. It'll have to be tomorrow."

"That's fine. Tomorrow. Yes. I'll re-read the bits I've forgotten. Master." Bellatrix was closer now, somehow, and the rain was falling harder than ever, and the damned book about sex was right there on the table, and Voldemort worried that he was hurting her with how hard he was squeezing her waist. She stroked at his face a little, and he felt woozy as he whispered to her,

"I'm sorry, but I can't… erm… I'm going to kiss you now."

"Yes, please," she nodded. He moved his hands from her waist to her cheeks, and she collapsed forward against him a little. One of his arms snared around her back, pulling her close, and the other cradled her cheek as he touched his mouth to hers. Immediately, his ears rang, and there was heat. Loud heat, powerful heat. Hard. He was so, so hard for her. She squealed softly at the way his lips pressed against hers, and he tried not to groan. She seemed to open her mouth on instinct, but he resisted the urge to shove his tongue into her. Instead, he brushed his tongue gently over her bottom lip and hummed a little, tasting lemonade, and he stroked under her eye with his thumb. He suckled at her lip a little, eliciting a quiet moan from her, and he kissed her lips with his once, twice, three times.

Then he pulled away, trying not to rip himself from her, and he pushed her back with the gentlest motions he could manage. He realised immediately what he had done, and he let out a shaking breath as she stared up at him with wide, apologetic eyes. There was a question there - was he angry? He just shook his head a little, licked his bottom lip and tasted her, and he gulped past the dry knot in his throat as he informed her,

"After my meetings, I have some shopping to do in Diagon Alley. I'll probably eat dinner there, so… erm… if you have anything you need to buy, make me list and bring it to my office."

"Thank you, Master," she said quietly, and he just nodded as he turned around and walked quickly back to the manor, leaving her sitting with her sex textbook and her lemonade.

**Author's Note: Oh, dear. So, he kissed her. Not exactly in the code he'd set for himself. But is Abraxas right? Is less than fifty days arbitrary - especially when you're the kind of guy who's made Horcruxes? He's definitely not going to rip her clothes off before her birthday, but can he keep his lips off of her? And he's going to Diagon Alley… let's just say I'm looking forward to writing that shopping trip. Mwah hahaha. Thanks as always for reading and reviewing.**


	9. Lipstick

"Mr Malfoy, thank you so much for having dinner with me," Bellatrix said rather awkwardly as she speared a brussel sprout. Abraxas Malfoy smiled at her across the table and shrugged.

"It would have been silly for us each to eat separately," he insisted. "With Lucius having left again for Wales and the Dark Lord in Diagon Alley, well… the place gets empty, you know?"

"You didn't want to go shopping, Mr Malfoy?" Bellatrix asked, and Abraxas scoffed as he sipped his wine.

"I despise shopping," he said. "Thankfully, Aeta handles the Hogwarts shopping list. I don't think I could possibly handle the hordes in Flourish and Blotts."

He shuddered visibly, and Bellatrix laughed a little. But then he said more seriously,

"I am certainly going to get Lucius to one last Quidditch match before the end of the summer, though. He's a keen Appleby Arrows fan, and they're playing Wimbourne in a few weeks. Huge match, as you well know. I've snagged a few tickets; he was so excited when I told him."

Bellatrix gave him an apologetic look and explained, "I know so little of Quidditch, I'm afraid. I was the one in the Hogwarts library listening to the roar of the crowd during House matches."

Abraxas looked shocked. "How did Cygnus let  _that_  happen? He was two years beneath me in school, of course, but we played four years together as Beaters for Slytherin."

"Oh. Did you?" Bellatrix smiled a bit as she took a bite of roast beef. "I remember him saying he'd played in school. We don't talk much, if I'm honest. Did the Dark Lord play?"

Abraxas choked out a laugh and chewed his own food. He swallowed some wine and said, "No, Tom Riddle did not play Quidditch. I don't suppose he would have cared much for losing, had it happened. He watched us rather solemnly from the stands."

Bellatrix's smile disappeared, and she was quiet for a long while then. She was uncomfortable, for some reason, discussing Lord Voldemort in his absence. She tried to imagine, though, what he would have looked like as a young, handsome Slytherin. After a long time, Abraxas said in a kind tone of voice,

"It'll be good, getting your parents out here for your birthday. I know the Dark Lord is  _really_  quite looking forward to it."

Bellatrix raised her eyes, and Abraxas nodded solemnly at her. He set down his fork and knife and pushed his mostly empty plate away. He took a sip of wine, and he told Bellatrix,

"Every day until the twenty-first of September eats him alive a little, I think."

Bellatrix felt her cheeks go warm. She cleared her throat and insisted,

"Me, too. I can't wait until I can use magic again. Because when I can use magic, then I can train properly with him. All I want is to be his soldier. I just want to fight for him, to serve him in battle. I have not, perhaps, known this for very long, but I know it to be true. I know that my life must be devoted to his service. And I know that I will be unquestioningly vicious as his servant, as his soldier."

Abraxas folded his hands on his dining table and nodded. "He's right about you. He wasn't exaggerating."

Bellatrix shrugged. "I think he's right about everything."

Abraxas smiled, almost sadly, and then brushed his thumb carefully over his bottom lip. He hesitated and then asked,

"Miss Black, may I speak plainly? I hope you will not take offence. I am his servant, too, you understand. I am his devoted servant, and have been for years. I need to ask you… please give him  _something_. Anything that you genuinely want to give him. He is torturing himself with complete deprivation. I will leave it at that, and I think I will retreat to my quarters for the evening. Thank you for a pleasant meal."

Bellatrix stood when he did, and she nodded, feeling more confused than she ever had.

* * *

Voldemort strolled past Flourish and Blotts, evading a small child who was not even vaguely looking where she was going. Shops were closing down for the evening; he'd done his potions and owlery shopping before dinner at the Leaky Cauldron, but he'd put off the second bit of his errands until now. Unfortunately for Bellatrix, Florean Fortescue's was already closed, or he would have considered Freezing a scoop of pistachio ice cream to bring back for her.

He had a belly full of stew, bread, and Butterbeer, and he had a thick canvas bag over his arm with parchments, binding ribbons, wax, ink, quills, Draught of Peace, Pepperup Potion, and Eeylops Premium Owl Treats. Now, with Diagon Alley nearly deserted for the night, he walked into Madam Primpernelle's Beautifying Potions and knew he'd be the only wizard in there. Bellatrix had only asked for some Draught of Peace to help with her chronic nighttime restlessness, along with a new jar of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion and a few items she'd apologetically scribbled onto a scrap of parchment. She'd insisted she could ask her mother to send them by owl, but Voldemort had rolled his eyes and said he could purchase some damned makeup. After all, if she was going to spend more than two years under house arrest in his charge, the least he could do was accept a shopping list from her every now and then.

"Hello! Mr Riddle, isn't it?" a tall, thin witch who had very obviously administered herself Tugwood's classic beautification potion came out from the shiny wood desk, and Voldemort gave her an uncomfortable smile.

"Hello. I, erm… I have a… ward. A female ward."

"Oh, yes. I think everyone knows about Miss Black," said the witch seriously. "I presume you're shopping for her?"

Voldemort handed her the list of items Bellatrix had written down and stammered, "She wants… erm, she's asked for a jar of Sleekeazy's, if you carry that, as well."

"Of course, sir." The witch got a smug look on her face and started walking around the shop, gathering things in a basket. She began murmuring to herself about 'stay-all-day lipstick in burnt peach' and 'rose perfume,' and Voldemort huffed a sigh as he checked his canvas bag to be certain he'd purchased owl treats. Suddenly he couldn't remember. Abraxas had too many owls, he thought distantly. They went through treats too quickly.

"Oh, hello, Professor McGonagall," said the witch, and Voldemort whirled round to see Minerva McGonagall come sweeping into the shop. She paused when she saw Voldemort, but then her face went steely, and she cleared her throat gently as she said to the witch,

"Good evening, Maisie. I'm in search of that wondrous charcoal soap you had last summer - the sort where the bar gets you nice and clean and lasts an eternity? I'd like to buy one for the new school term."

"Of course, Professor," the clerk witch, Maisie, said. She looked nervous then. Everyone knew the story of what had happened, that it had been McGonagall who had found Bellatrix Black in the corridor after casting the Cruciatus Curse. McGonagall smiled warmly at Maisie and said,

"Please, do take your time with Mr Riddle. I assume the lipstick's not for him."

"No. It's for the prisoner," he said tartly, and McGonagall nodded. She approached him and narrowed her eyes a little, and she whispered,

"You bought off the Wizengamot, Mr Riddle, didn't you?"

"Why, I would never do such a thing, Professor," he lied. "What an insulting proposition. I assure you that Miss Black is receiving regular remedial lessons on controlling her temper and channeling her -"

"That girl is dangerous, and she has been put into the so-called 'care' of an even more dangerous wizard." McGonagall's pale face went pink, and she pursed her lips. Voldemort stayed very calm, and he sighed as he said in a condescending tone,

"I understand, Minerva. It must have been profoundly disturbing for you to see your students in that scene. I can't imagine. Again, all I can do is promise that Bellatrix is being properly rehabilitated and is meeting all terms of the sentence given to her by the Ministry of Magic. I do hope you have a fine school term. Enjoy your charcoal soap."

McGonagall raised her eyebrows and trilled, "Enjoy your lipstick, Mr Riddle."

From behind him, Maisie said in a very nervous voice, "That'll be eight Galleons, three Sickles, sir."

* * *

He heard the music from all the way down the corridor. As he approached her dance studio, he wondered what the blazes she was doing, dancing at almost ten at night. He could hear the scratch in the music that told him she was using a record player. He'd brought one up here the other day from her, one that had been languishing in his office. Now he could hear music he recognised from the most famous wizarding ballet of all time,  _Viviana_. It was the story of a witch who loved her children dearly, until her daughter fell from a bridge, died, and haunted their home as a ghost. She couldn't touch the girl, and the child felt almost nothing as a ghost, so Viviana hurled herself off the same bridge from which her daughter had fallen, but she didn't become a ghost. It was a tragic ballet, and the music Voldemort heard was a desperate swell of sorrow, the scene where Viviana stands on the bridge, trying to decide whether or not to jump.

He walked slowly into the dance studio, surprised to see that Bellatrix was wearing an actual costume. She'd danced this part before on stage, he could tell at once. She was moving like she'd been choreographed into this part, and the costume fit her like a glove. It was made to look like a peasant dress, with its little creamy puff sleeves and its brown velvet lace-up bodice, with its wispy, cream-coloured tulle skirts that fell gracefully past her knees. Her hair had been pulled into a bun, and she wore scarlet lipstick. Why had she dressed up like this so late at night, he wondered? Why was she moving like this?

He silently sat in the chair along the wall, setting down the shopping bag from Madam Primpernelle's, and finally she flicked her eyes over to him. She said nothing at all, though she glanced at the shopping. She just danced. Voldemort felt his heart start to speed up a bit; he felt like he was the audience at a recital, like she was putting on a show for him. Maybe she was.

She was up  _en pointe_ , her back just slightly arched, her left leg parallel to the ground, her arms arranged around her. She swished elegantly through a few steps and then pretended to fall as the music crashed into a tragic rush of strings. She rolled onto her back, arching up, reaching for the sky with one perfectly extended arm, her fingers coiling. She lay flat again, her legs rising a few inches off the floor and then falling. She was still for a few beats of the low, heavy music, and Voldemort felt his breath quicken. Why was he feeling like this - attracted to her, right now, here? She was more beautiful right in this moment than she'd ever been, somehow.

"Bella," he whispered, but he knew she couldn't hear him. He thought about turning off the music, about loudly informing her that he'd bought owl treats and lipstick. But she was on her feet again, up in an  _arabesque,_  leaning over an invisible edge, heaving with imaginary sobs, pounding her fist against an invisible stone wall. She twirled backward, away from her death. Spinning, spinning, spinning. She would never stop, it seemed, until finally she did. She froze, drawing her arm beneath her chin and her pointed toe quietly along the wood floor. She slowly dragged her legs up, up  _en pointe_  again, up until her left foot was above her head with her arm wrapped behind her knee to support the unnatural bend. She tipped her face against her knee, wrapped her right arm around her torso as though embracing herself, and shut her eyes as the lone violin played its final, extraordinarily high note.

And then, just like that, the piece was over, and the record spun silently, and Bellatrix slowly lowered her leg and descended into a curtsy, bowing her head gratefully at the mirror. She stared at her reflection and said,

"I performed this piece - 'Viviana's Decision' at the Hogwarts Talent Show that McGonagall arranged last year. I was convinced I would win."

She stood from her curtsy and turned to Voldemort, who found himself rather dizzy where he sat. He shrugged and asked,

"Well? Did you win?"

"No," she said simply. "The students voted, so the Gryffindors sabotaged it and I came in last place. I was booed after my performance. Loudly. Jamie McLaggen got ten points taken for organising that, but… well, anyway. I was bored after dinner, and I thought I'd throw this old costume on one more time."

"I think you were magnificent," Voldemort said very honestly. Bellatrix gave him a weak little smile, and he rose and walked toward her with the smaller canvas bag. He held it out to her as if it were foul, and he said, "Your Sleekeazy's and lipstick and perfume and whatnot."

"Oh. Thank you, Master," she said gratefully, accepting the bag. "How much was it?"  
"You're not paying for it," he said dismissively, but Bellatrix insisted,

"Oh, I must. I can't let you -"

"Bella. It's fine." He felt flustered suddenly. Nervous. He wasn't sure why. He swallowed hard, studying her costume and her hair and her face. He wanted her. He wanted her so very badly. His voice was hoarse as he told her, "I saw McGonagall. In the beauty shop."

"Oh." Bellatrix giggled a little and admitted, "You know, I really wouldn't expect to see  _either_  of you in a beauty shop."

"Well, she wasn't buying lipstick; she was buying charcoal soap," Voldemort conceded, and Bellatrix smirked.

"She would. Ratty, nasty wench. I'm assuming she had some fine words for you, Master."

"She did. She said you were dangerous. Accused me of paying off the Wizengamot," he smiled, and Bellatrix shrugged.

"You undoubtedly deflected from that truth more smoothly than I'd have been able to do, My Lord."

She just stared up at him then, and for a long moment, they seemed to be studying one another's eyes. Finally, she turned and walked toward the record player, taking the record off, and she said over her shoulder,

"Thank you for getting these toiletries, Master. Really."

"It was no trouble," he promised, walking toward her for some reason. "I had to buy other things, anyway. Owl treats. Parchment, ink, potions. That Draught of Peace is in your bag, by the way."

"Thank you," she said again, and this time when she turned around, her eyes searched his, as if she were asking permission. He nodded, unsure of exactly what communication was happening. She set down the canvas bag he'd handed her, and she backed up toward the wall beside the record player. Voldemort followed her, knowing he shouldn't, knowing he should keep his distance and finding himself wholly unable to do so. She pressed her palms against the wall and stared up at him with a very serious expression, a determined expression.

"You dance beautifully," he told her. "You should have won. Someone else could have been multiplying Conjured crystal glasses with their hair on fire. It wouldn't have mattered, not with you dancing like that. You should have won. You dance beautifully."

She smiled, looking sorrowful, and shrugged. "I did my angry crying about it last year, Master. If you liked it tonight, then I've won my own talent show. And, anyway, I'm going to kill Jamie McLaggen."

He huffed air out through his nostrils and let himself reach for her waist, feeling the soft velvet of her bodice and the slight curve of her beneath. His stomach flopped when her hands went to his chest, and then she whispered,

"I need more."

"So do I," he nodded, "but I'm not going to take you until your birthday."

"That book," she murmured, her brown eyes wide and shining. "It said there were many other things in between. So many other things that could happen."

"Bella." He shook his head a little, but he was descending toward her, and his breath mingled with hers as he informed her again, "You dance beautifully."

"Please kiss me," she whispered. He did, gently, afraid he would hurt her for some reason. She did not seem to share this fear, and her hands went to his cheeks, pulling him harder against her mouth. She wanted him to be more aggressive with the kiss, he could tell. He was much taller than her, so he pinned her against the wall and put his hands on the wall, using more pressure everywhere he could. She moaned when his tongue snaked between her lips and dragged along the roof of her mouth, when he sucked on her lip and then on her tongue. She reached between them, and he gasped when her hand cupped the bulge in his trousers. Her thumb dragged over him there, and she looked terrified as she asked in a shaking voice,

"So  _this_ is an erection?"

"Yes," he nodded, trying desperately not to laugh at her. "It means I want you, and I do want you. Oh. Bloody hell, do I want you."

She smiled then and started to caress him, to play with his hardness. He tried to scold her, to tell her that if she didn't stop, he was going to come in his trousers. He tried to drag her hand away and leave the room. But he couldn't do any of that, because it felt good to be touched like this. He hadn't been touched in years; he hadn't allowed it. He'd never been serious with any witch, and he'd never felt a visceral connection like this one. Her hand on him right now, even through his underwear and trousers, felt better than any physical sensation had ever felt, and he tipped his head back and groaned helplessly.

"Am I hurting you, Master?" Bellatrix asked. He shook his head roughly and bent again to kiss her, covering her hand with his and urging her to use the enthusiasm he could feel was inside her. He showed her where his tip was, how to flick her thumb at it through the material. He showed her how to pump at his shaft, how to use the fabric to stimulate him. Then he let go and allowed her to do it on her own, and soon enough she was driving her head back against the wall, her small breasts heaving in her velvet bodice. Voldemort impulsively reached to touch her there, to squeeze at her chest, to drag his thumb over the nipple that was just barely visible through the thick costume.

"I am so  _wet_ ," she huffed brazenly, and Voldemort's mouth fell open at that. Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and her hand hesitated as she told him, "I've never felt like this, Master. Not ever."

"Bellatrix," he warned her, "I'm going to… to…  _oh_."

"To ejaculate?" she finished for him, and he couldn't help laughing then as he nodded frantically. He kissed her hard then, so hard that his teeth hit hers. He ripped her hand off of hers as his come pumped into his underwear. He couldn't be embarrassed about it, not with her. He kissed her through the blinding white heat of the climax, through the tremble of the come down, and then he pulled out his wand and aimed it at his trousers, and he whispered,

" _Tergeo… Scourgify…_ "

She was crimson-cheeked and panting frantically where she stood, marveling. She knew now what she'd done to him. She knew now what an orgasm was, what their parts were. He'd made her read about it, after all. But he couldn't touch her. He couldn't put his fingers between her legs, up beneath those tulle skirts. Not tonight.

"I can't…" He gulped hard and shook his head. "Believe me; I do not mean to leave you unsatisfied."

"You're not," she promised. She chewed hard on her lip and insisted, "I feel very satisfied. Master."

He scoffed a bit, stepped back, tucked his wand away, and dragged his fingers through his hair as he told her again,

"You dance beautifully."

"Thank you," she whispered. "For everything."

He nodded and reminded her, "History of Necromancy discussion tomorrow. Oh, and I've got to do a write-up to send off to the Ministry, and there's a questionnaire that you have to answer yourself and sign. So. Erm… my office at nine, if you please."

"Yes, of course. Goodnight," she said, and as he left, taking the rest of his shopping with him, he muttered,

"Goodnight, Bella."

**Author's Note: Oh, dear. They really can't keep their hands off of each other. But at least they touched each other through clothes, right? And we got to see McGonagall being her snarky self, and hear more about Bellatrix's not-so-great school experience. Now… for this Ministry questionnaire… mwah hahaha.**

**For those leaving comments as they read, a massive, massive thank you! As some of you may know, I have graduate degrees in Irish language and literature and Irish studies, so tomorrow (St. Patrick's Day) is a big day for me. Just the same, I'll try and get at least one chapter up (provided I am sufficiently sober).**   **Beannachtaí na Féile Pádraig oraibh!**


	10. Earned

"Morning." Voldemort looked up from his copy of the  _Daily Prophet_  and his cup of tea to see Abraxas in the doorway of his office. He gestured for Abraxas to enter but said, "I've got Bellatrix coming in five minutes, so if it isn't going to be very quick or very urgent, we'll have to reschedule, I'm afraid."

"Actually, it's about Miss Black. And it's quick." Abraxas paused in the middle of the office, seeming as though he had no intention of sitting down. Voldemort raised his eyebrows at him and set down the newspaper, and Abraxas waved his wand to shut the office door. He cleared his throat and said, "We had dinner last night, Master, she and I. Since you were off shopping."

"Oh? How very nice for you." Voldemort was still a little confused, so he kept his voice tight and formal. Abraxas just shrugged and said,

"You came up in conversation, My Lord, as you are wont to do. I wanted to let you know that she told me… she said that her life would be devoted to your service. And she said that she would be 'unquestioningly vicious' as your servant and soldier."

Voldemort just breathed for a moment, and then finally he asked softly, "She said that, did she?"

"Yes, Master," Abraxas nodded. He stared seriously at Voldemort for a long moment, and he sighed. "She is incredibly devoted to you. Forgive me if I have have overreached in any way by telling you this. I thought you might want to know."

"Thank you, Malfoy." Voldemort quirked up his lips a little and sat up very straight in his chair. "You've got the Quidditch match in a few days with Lucius, no? I thought I'd heard you say you were going to Leicester today to get the tickets from Avery."

"Yes, sir, if that's all right," Malfoy nodded, and Voldemort scoffed.

"Of course. If you're going, ask him how things are in the Department of Magical Games and Sports on our end. He was meant to see to it that a few Mudbloods in there were sacked. Check on that situation, will you?"

"Yes, of course, Master." Abraxas bowed his head, and then there was a knocking on the office door. Bellatrix. Abraxas smiled weakly and turned to go, and when he opened the office door, Voldemort heard Bellatrix say in a meek tone,

"Oh. Good morning, Mr Malfoy."

"Good morning, Miss Black. I was just leaving. Have a fine day; it's meant to be good sunny weather, I think."

"I'll try and make good use of it, then. Goodbye." Bellatrix walked past Malfoy, who shut then office door behind him as he left. Bellatrix came walking into the office, carrying a copy of  _A Devilishly Brief History of Necromancy._  She sat opposite Voldemort when he gestured for her to do so. He had decided, whilst lying in his bed and staring at the ceiling this morning, to act as though nothing strange at all had happened between them the night before. So, though she was studying him with wide, curious eyes, he cleared his throat and asked her,

"What did you find most illuminating about the history of necromancy? You never studied it in school, I reckon."

Bellatrix seemed jarred by the sudden line of questioning. She set the book on the desk and said, "Erm. No, Master. Not in depth. I suppose the thing I found most intriguing was that it is a failed endeavour. People have spent millennia trying to raise the dead, and it's never worked. Not really. Even Muggles have tried, and the best they've wound up with is the legend of zombies."

"There is, of course, the story of Resurrection Stone in the  _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ ," Voldemort reminded her, "but even that is an incomplete resurrection; it brings back a shadow. Inferi, I can assure you from personal experience, are quite real. But they are skeletal, mutilated shells. Corpses with no thought or emotion, not real humans anymore. Is there, Bellatrix, any real way to fully bring back a person who has died?"

"No," she said, shaking her head firmly. "No, there isn't. And there is no way to completely and truly stave off mortality, either."

That wasn't strictly true, or at least he didn't think so. But he was hardly about to divulge to her that he'd made Horcruxes for himself. So he drummed his fingers on his desk and nodded.

"Tell me about séances in the wizarding world. Can you communicate with just any spirit?"

"No," Bellatrix said again, quite firmly. "Spirits can choose to use a Seer as a vessel, either with a Prophecy or a message, but most Divination techniques that claim to call out to a spirit are a hoax. Spirits do not answer messages into the ether. And we do not really know what lies beyond the Veil."

"When I was in a small village in Romania," Voldemort said carefully, "about twelve years ago, there was a Gypsy witch who told Muggles that she could commune with their ancestors by sacrificing a chicken and using its blood as a medium to the world of the dead. I thought she was a complete fraud, in violation of all sorts of laws. Then one day, I saw her go into a trance and deliver a spoken message in Romanian, something I didn't understand. It sent this Muggle peasant woman into hysterics - her dead mother had communicated something very clear through this Gypsy Seer witch."

"But it wasn't the chicken blood," Bellatrix insisted. "She was a Seer and was exploiting that. She was still wrong to use her power with Muggles."

Voldemort smiled a bit. "Correct. Well. I think you've done a fine job with your reading. We have some paperwork to send off to the Ministry. I want to read you what I've written up, just so you know what I'm saying about you. I have it here."

He opened his leather folio and pulled out a parchment, and he ignored the way that Bellatrix's eyes were studying him so closely. He cleared his throat softly and opened a clam shell leather case, pulling out his reading glasses. She looked confused, and when he put them on, he mumbled,

"My handwriting's neat but small. They're just for reading."

She still seemed amazed that Lord Voldemort, of all people, had a pair of black glasses on, even if just for reading. He scowled; he was almost forty-two. Her father had reading glasses. Abraxas Malfoy had reading glasses. Just the same, he huffed a breath and felt embarrassed for a strange reason. He glared at her through the weakly prescribed lenses, pulled them off, and put them away, snapping the case shut. He wouldn't have her looking at him as an old man. He squinted a little at the parchment and read clearly,

" _Dear Mrs Stevens: I am writing to inform you that Miss Bellatrix Black has made wonderful, demonstrable progress in the areas of temper management and social development._ "

"Social development?" Bellatrix interrupted, looking a little offended. Voldemort smirked and continued,

" _She makes very pleasant conversation at dinner time and is able to complete her day independently without making any trouble whatsoever around Malfoy Manor. In fact, she has been quite helpful with simple household tasks and has continued her ballet dancing in a specially constructed dance studio."_

He paused then, staring at the parchment, suddenly remembering the sight of her the night before, twirling madly, pulling her leg up above her head. Standing against the wall, her mouth crushed beneath his, her hand bringing him to completion in his trousers. His voice shook a little then as he said more quietly,

" _Miss Black has been working diligently on responsiveness to stimuli intended to induce a negative or angry reaction, and strategies have successfully been eliciting instead a calm and rational response."_

He remembered then the way she'd simply handed over her wand when he'd lied and said the Ministry was coming for her. The way she'd promised she would go to Azkaban and then fight hard for him upon her release. He gulped hard and read the last bit of the letter.

" _Miss Black has been continuing the theoretical studies she will have missed through her expulsion from Hogwarts. She has access to an extensive library at Malfoy Manor and is being assessed regularly on assigned readings. Overall, I believe that Miss Black shows sincere remorse for her crime and demonstrates an ability to be fully rehabilitated so that, at her reassessment upon her nineteenth birthday, she can be released from house arrest. Please do let me know if there is anything else required of me as her guardian prior to our meeting on the nineteenth of September. Sincerely, Tom Riddle._ "

He set down the parchment and raised his eyes to Bellatrix, and she looked emotional for some reason. She shrugged a bit and said softly,

"Well. That's high praise indeed, My Lord. I don't think I've earned it."

"I think you have. Abraxas told me what you said last night at dinner," Voldemort said simply, "about being my soldier."

Bellatrix nodded. "Well, I meant that, Master. Even after my house arrest is over, I know now. For years I felt aimless, like a child that no one understood. A stupid thing to say, I know."

"That is not stupid; I felt the same way as a child," Voldemort insisted. "Brilliant children are always misunderstood. They need avenues for their energies."

"Well, I think my avenue is being your soldier," Bellatrix nodded vehemently. "I want to spend my time here learning to serve you in every way that I can. If I fall in battle, I will die with a purpose. And if I manage to take our enemies so that I can propel you in some miniscule way toward power, my life will have had a meaning I never would have guessed it could have. Master."

He blinked a few times, realising that when he'd made this arrangement, he hadn't known that she would be like this. He hadn't known that anyone could be like this. He just nodded at her, somehow unable to say anything. He passed her a piece of parchment identical to the questionnaire Isadora Stevens had asked her in the office at the Ministry. It asked about food and clothes, about her physical safety. He handed Bellatrix a quill and said numbly,

"You have to tick the boxes yourself and sign at the bottom. Let me know if you can't answer one satisfactorily."

"Everything's fine, Master," she assured him, making little check marks with her quill beside each question as she skimmed them. She hesitated at the question about her sexual well-being, and he cleared his throat and said very awkwardly,

"If I have made you feel in any way unsafe, Bellatrix, then I -"

"No. You have not." She ticked that box so firmly that a little blob of ink pooled there, and then she scrawled her name on the line at the bottom of the page. She blew on it to dry the ink, and she passed it back to Voldemort. He rolled the parchments up, having already written Isadora Stevens' name and Ministry office on the outside of his letter, and he bound and sealed them. He summoned Dobby and sent the letters off to the owlery, and once Dobby had gone, Voldemort paced a little and suggested,

"You should enjoy the day. Like Abraxas said. It's warm and sunny."

Bellatrix rose from her chair and looked very nervous then, and Voldemort frowned at her.

"Something wrong?" he asked, and she opened her mouth for a moment before shutting it. She hesitated and then finally said,

"My parents are coming to visit next week, Master. Last visit before my birthday. And I they're bringing Cissy. And I was wondering if it would be possible for me to practise a dance solo and perform it for them in the ballroom here. Like a recital. It always made my mother very happy to see me dance, and I thought perhaps they might like to see me doing something… something…"

"Something that doesn't involve casting Unforgivables at other students? Dancing that doesn't involve getting booed off the stage when they know damned well you're talented?" He nodded, understanding fully. "Yes. I think a little recital is very much in order. If you've any need of… well, anything. I wouldn't know. Dobby can arrange for punch and pastries or something. It'll be pleasant. Oh, but, erm… Abraxas and Lucius will be here that day. And… me."

"Oh. Yes. That's fine," Bellatrix said dismissively. "That's only six people. That's fine. It's really just to show them that this isn't Azkaban, and that I'm happy. Just to reassure them. You know?"

"Yes." He smiled a little and felt compelled to approach her, to tuck her hair behind her ear. "I'll stay far away from your dance studio, Miss Black. Wouldn't want to ruin the surprise. I assume you won't be leaping about like a monkey with your wand jabbed out at invisible enemies."

She grinned. "Sorry to disappoint. I'll have to save that for training. This will be a bit more traditional."

"I'm sure it will fine," he said confidently. "You dance beautifully. Now, before you get to practising, go spend a few hours' in this sunshine, will you?"

**Author's Note: A recital, eh? Let's just say Lord Voldemort might work up a bit of an…** _ **appetite**_ …  **during that particular parental visit. Mwah hahaha.**

**I'm sure you've all noticed that FF is basically not functional at the moment, but I'm going to go ahead and try posting this so it's up with FF goes live again. Please leave a comment if you get a chance, if for no reason other than me knowing my readers are still with me! Haha! Thanks, all! Happy St. Patrick's Day!** **Beannachtaí na Féile Padraig Oraibh! (Yes, I am already completely trashed on whiskey; sorry if this chapter reflects that. Ha!)**


	11. Starlina

"Mum! Dad! Cissy!" Bellatrix hurried into the parlour where her family had been shown by Dobby. Lucius Malfoy was already in there, talking animatedly with Narcissa, and everyone turned as soon as Bellatrix came rushing into the room. Druella rushed forward and swept her eldest daughter into her arms as though she hadn't seen her in years.

"Oh, Bella, dear. You look well. You look so healthy!" Druella grinned wildly as she pulled back, and a voice from behind Bellatrix said,

"I promise we're feeding her, Madam Black."

Bellatrix laughed a little as Voldemort came in with Abraxas Malfoy. Druella Black immediately dipped into a low curtsy, and Cygnus Black said loudly,

"My Lord. How good to see you, sir."

"Hello, Cygnus." Voldemort smiled just a little, looking as though he felt obligated to do so, and he said, "The House-Elf has lunch ready in the dining room."

Lunch, as it turned out, was a light meal of egg salad sandwiches and a greens salad with mint lemonade. It was a very pleasant meal for such a warm day, and Bellatrix found herself particularly grateful for it, given how nervous her stomach was about dancing. She sat in quiet whilst everyone else talked. She didn't mind. She just wanted to listen.

"Lucius is going to the Wimbourne versus Appleby match, Daddy," Narcissa said excitedly. "He's just told me! Mr Malfoy got tickets. I wish we could go."

"Ah, but Mr Malfoy has connections to Quidditch tickets that your daddy does not, Cissy," Cygnus smiled. Abraxas Malfoy gave Cygnus a knowing look and said,

"I have four tickets, actually. Avery gave me two extra as a gesture of goodwill. If you'd like to come with Narcissa, Cygnus, you're more than welcome."

"So long as you cheer for the Arrows, of course," Lucius laughed, and Narcissa looked very excited. Cygnus grinned and started gratefully stammering platitudes to Abraxas. Narcissa and Lucius clutches at one another, grins plastered on their pale faces, and Bellatrix couldn't help but look at Voldemort and smile a little. He was staring at her, seeming serious, and he returned his face to his meal when he caught her staring.

"Bellatrix, dear… what sort of historical studies have you been doing?" Druella asked lightly. Voldemort said in a sharp tone,

"Druella, I would prefer that you did not ask Bellatrix about the details of her training, nor the specifics of her therapy or probation. Thank you."

He picked up an egg salad sandwich and took a small bite, and there was an uneasy quiet in the dining room. Druella set down her glass of mint lemonade, looked very embarrassed, and said softly,

"I do apologise, My Lord."

"No matter; do not ask of it again," Voldemort said simply. "Cygnus, any progress on that individual you and I have been discussing of late?"

Cygnuss shook his head and looked as abashed as his wife. "No, Master. No progress yet. I'm sorry."

"Hmm. Disappointing."

The silence returned, and the only sounds then were the little clinks of forks on plates, the sips of mint lemonade being taken, the soft and awkward coughs people let out. Finally, mercifully, Narcissa said quietly,

"Bellatrix, Mum and I went to Twillfit and Tattings and got you some new robes. All sorts. Other types of garments, too. We put them all in a suitcase; the House-Elf took them to your suite."

"I'll have to have the Dark Lord inspect them. Ministry regulations," Bellatrix said cautiously, but he shook his head and told her,

"I'm sure they're fine."

She was confused. Why was he being like this - so serious and angry? He wasn't like this when was alone with her. Was he like this with his Death Eaters? With everyone else? He was downright  _cranky_.

"Bella, we can't wait to see you dance, darling," Druella said, picking up the raspberry macaron that had been placed on a small plate as a little dessert with the lunch. She chewed a bite and then said carefully, "Your father and I do so miss watching you dance."

What went unsaid, but what everyone knew, was that the last time Lucius and Narcissa had seen Bellatrix perform, she'd been booed and hissed and laughed at by a crowd of students. The Gryffindors had arranged for their friends in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw to join them in mocking Bellatrix regardless of how good her performance was, and so Bellatrix had ended the emotional interpretation of 'Viviana's Decision' to the sound of jeers, spitting, groans, and cackling. But she hadn't cried there on the stage. She had just descended into a curtsy, scowling out into the crowd, scowling at Minerva McGonagall. And she had wanted so badly, right then and there, to kill Jamie McLaggen, because she'd known that he'd been responsible for organising the jeers and laughter.

"What are you dancing to?" asked Narcissa, jarring Bellatrix. She smiled a little and reminded her sister,

"I've still got my costumes from when I danced  _Starlina_."

"I'm not familiar with that one," Voldemort said tightly, and Abraxas explained,

"It's the story of a young witch in Venice who uses the constellations for Divination. When she foresees her father's shipwreck, she tries to convince everyone of his impending demise. The only one who believes her is a sailor named Cuomo, who steers the ship away from the storm and saves Starlina's father. Of course, Starlina and Cuomo wind up married at the end of the ballet."

"Oh. It's a lovely one," Druella nodded vehemently. "Will you be dancing Starlina's solo, Bella? Where she's alone at night, worried over her father and Cuomo?"

"Yes," Bellatrix nodded. "Of course, that solo is performed in Starlina's nightgown costume, so… no tutu, My Lord. Sorry."

She smirked at him, but his face was stoic as he shrugged and said, "I know nothing of ballet costumes, I'm afraid."

She was confused again, frowning a little. She cleared her throat and said,

"Well, I think I'll go and get into my costume. Get my hair and makeup ready. Why don't you all get settled in the ballroom? I think Dobby's got punch and pastries in there. I'll be in in a few moments. Really, I'm grateful for you all indulging me in this."

"Oh, we're looking forward to it, dear," Cygnus said, and as Bellatrix rose, Narcissa called,

"Just enjoy yourself, Bellatrix. Just dance."

* * *

White.

She was walking out through the open ballroom doors in virginal white. A flowing nightgown ensconced her, wispy, translucent chiffon that was cinched beneath her small breasts with a white satin bow.

Voldemort gulped hard as he studied her hair and face. She'd dabbed pink blusher on her cheeks, and she had painted her lips rose. Her hair was in a single braid down her back, like she was going to bed. She wore white tights and her pale pink pointe shoes, and as she padded out into the ballroom, the House-Elf obediently started the record player. Bellatrix came to the centre of the room as everyone clapped. Voldemort forced his hands together, and her eyes found his as she descended into a little curtsy of acknowledgement.

Then the music began, a sorrowful, worried piece that was heavily centred on cello. This solo was where Starlina was in her room, staring at the heavens, thinking about her father and the man she would marry. Voldemort flicked his eyes beside him; he and Cygnus were side-by-side in the lined up chairs. He shifted a little as Bellatrix started to move. Somehow, it felt uncomfortable to sit beside her father for this.

Bellatrix rose up  _en pointe_  and began to flutter her feet quickly, moving within a small space but seeming very restless. Her arms gestured slowly, smoothly, gradually working their way upward. She stared out a window only she could see, finally aiming her hands there. She leaned heavily one way, until it seemed she would tip and fall, and her braid came over one shoulder. She embraced herself, lowered herself down onto flat feet, leaned far back, then came back up onto pointe as a frightened-sounding violin joined the cello. Now she brought a leg up into an  _arabesque,_ extending one arm straight in front of her, then gesturing slowly toward her. She curled her leg slowly, spinning languorously down to stand. She stared at Voldemort for a moment, and he forced himself to look down at his shoes.

He huffed a breath. She was beautiful right now. She was beautiful in this white dress, in this ballroom, surrounded by her family. She was beautiful whenever he thought about her training for battle, whenever he quizzed her about necromancy, whenever he thought about her or spoke to her.

He raised his eyes slowly and saw her kick her leg up and back, curling her spine until her foot and head met. Then she brought her knee down to the ground, kneeling as if in prayer. She touched her fists to her face and paused as the music quivered. Then she lowered herself further, extending her left leg straight out before her and pushing her arms back behind her. She brought her leg around in a half circle until it was behind her, brought her arms up straight in the air, staring ahead, and then suddenly she flicked her gaze over, wrapping her arms very slowly and gracefully round herself, bending her torso down protectively, staring at Voldemort. He tried to look away. He couldn't.

She shut her eyes and bent back the other way, back further than any human should be able to contort, until she touched her head to her toe. Her arms reached up, shaped into a perfectly bent circle, pleading for the safety of Starlina's father and lover. The music swelled, and she pushed herself up, kicking her leg back up into an extended, bent  _arabesque._ She whirled around in a circle, kicking the ground between each turn. Suddenly Voldemort realised that she was spotting him, that her eyes were finding his between each perfect spin. Finally she stopped, freezing as the music did. It went quiet, and she gracefully descended to one knee, then the other. She curled up into a small ball, heaving with desperate fear, and finally she rolled with unimaginable smoothness onto her back, sending the white chiffon nightgown splaying all round her. She heaved where she lay, her palms up, her feet pointed, her back arched just so, and the music died elegantly.

Everyone erupted into raucous applause. Druella and Narcissa cried out their approval, and Abraxas and Lucius Malfoy started discussing with one another that Bellatrix had done even better than the time they'd seen  _Starlina_  performed in Paris. Voldemort stood slowly, for everyone else had stood, but he couldn't make himself clap. All he could do was stare. He just ogled Bellatrix as she pulled herself up, her breasts moving far too alluringly in the thin white nightgown. He locked his gaze onto her pretty face, onto her limbs that had moved so perfectly.

She was talented. She was vicious. She was intelligent. She wanted him. She wanted to  _serve_  him. Forever. And she was so beautiful. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. All he could do was stare, and now she was staring back at him. She was taking another little curtsy, looking self-conscious, but she kept looking at him.

"Well, My Lord?" Cygnus asked excitedly from beside him, "What did you think?"

Voldemort didn't answer. He thought, if he was honest, that he wanted to snatch Bellatrix's wrist and yank her up the staircase and take her to his rooms and rip that nightgown costume right off of her. He thought that he wanted to train her and keep her far beyond the reaches of her house arrest. He thought that she was beautiful. He thought that she was -

"Magnificent," Voldemort nodded, giving Cygnus a little smile. "She dances beautifully."

"Well," Cygnus said as Bellatrix went over to her mother and sister, "I think Druella and I are both exceedingly grateful that you have been good enough to allow her to dance during this house arrest. I've never seen her spirits higher. Never. It's strange… getting expelled and arrested appears to have been the best thing to have ever happened to Bellatrix."

He smiled sadly at his troubled daughter then, and Voldemort said reassuringly,

"She's going to be fine. I'll see to that."

Cygnus looked back at Voldemort, and he seemed to realise something then. Was Voldemort as obvious as that, he wondered? It didn't matter; Cygnus was his servant as much as Bellatrix was. Still, he thought he saw a flicker of awareness in Cygnus' thin face. Cygnus gulped and nodded, and he said softly,

"We won't overstay. Thank you for letting us visit, My Lord."

Once everyone started to say farewells, Dobby got everything cleaned up in the ballroom, and Voldemort retreated to his office. Abraxas had to practically drag Lucius away from Narcissa, he could tell. After awhile, he could see through his office window that Druella and Cygnus had walked outside and had taken Narcissa by Side-Along Apparition away from Malfoy Manor. At that point, there was a knocking on his office door, and he called,

"Enter."

He was unsurprised when it was Bellatrix who walked in, still wearing her Starlina nightgown costume. She grinned at him as she shut the door, and he leaned back against the bookshelves that lined his office.

"Well, Master?" she asked. "What did you think? How did I do?"

"You did… erm…" He wasn't sure what do say. She looked terrified, and finally he said honestly, "It was the most wondrous thing I've ever seen, I think."

She giggled and swatted her hand through the air. "You're being silly, Master."

"Am I?" He stood up straight and approached her, and her smile faded a little. He nodded and shrugged. "You're right. I am being silly. I do feel silly. I certainly felt like a silly old fool, watching you dance and going hard sitting next to your father."

"Master," she whispered, and he brazenly reached out to hold her little waist in his hands. She gasped, and he continued,

"I felt silly when I couldn't even clap for you because I was too busy being entirely entranced, entirely anesthetised by how beautiful and talented you were."

"Master." Her voice was just the hint of a breath now, and as he backed her up against the opposite bookshelf, he bent his head and hissed,

"Do you suppose I've got an erection  _now_ , little girl?"

"I hope so," she murmured, reaching into his robes and nodding when she found a hardening lump there. He sucked in air hard through his teeth when her fingers went to the buttons on the black trousers he wore, and he whispered,

"What are you planning on doing with it, Bellatrix?"

"Anything you want, Master," she replied, her voice trembling. He shook his head and cupped her face, and he insisted,

"No. Anything  _you_  want." He kissed her then, groaning quite loudly into her mouth when she pulled him out of his trousers. He had not been expecting that level of bravery.

She was touching him. She had her actual hand on his actual cock. He took a moment to try and calibrate that, but before he could, she was brushing her thumb over his tip. That felt  _too_  good, and he hissed and bucked his hips hard into her hand. He wrenched his mouth from hers, reading fear on her face, and he insisted,

"N-No, it's… I like it."

He guided her hand, murmuring a lubrication charm and showing her how to move up and down, how to swirl around the top, how to play with the slit at the tip and the place on the bottom that was so sensitive. Then, when he left her to fondle him, his hand went to her breast. This costume was nice and thin, not like the one she'd worn the week before. He could properly touch her in this one. He slid his fingers into the top of her white chiffon nightgown, and he choked out a little noise at the feel of her soft, small breast. She was perfect here, soft and pert and perfect. He thumbed at her nipple, and she tipped her head back a little at that.

He seized the opportunity of her exposed neck, leaning down and pressing his lips beneath her ear. She moaned; she liked that. He lathed his tongue a little, up and down and up again, and then he suckled a bit, and she cried out. Her hand tightened and quickened on his cock. She was coming alive for him, he knew, and he found himself whispering into her ear,

"Are you wet for me, Bellatrix? Do you want me?"

"Yes." She slid her hand up and down his lubricated cock, her fingers flying now, dancing around his tip. He didn't have long. His balls hand tightened up against his body; everything was going taut. He had moments at most. He kissed her neck hard, nibbling at her delicate skin, and then he murmured against her flesh,

"Tell me. Tell me what's happening to you."

"I'm… I feel like there's an… an itch I can't scratch," she panted. She was breathless and red-cheeked, beautiful in her arousal as she murmured with shut eyes, "I  _need_  you. I need you. Please."

"Bellatrix." He kissed her square on the mouth then, shoving his tongue into her mouth and feeling shocked when she sucked on his tongue and dragged her teeth along his lip. He groaned, feeling his pleasure explode. His come was getting everywhere, he realised suddenly. She didn't know what to do with it, so it was getting everywhere. He glanced down to see that it was shooting all over the skirt of her costume, all over her fingers and wrist. She gasped quietly, and he just tried to catch his breath through the heat and flush of satisfaction. As it faded, he said dryly,

"And that, as your textbook probably explained, is semen."

"Oh." Bellatrix nodded and pulled her hand away, staring at it very curiously. Voldemort sighed as he reached into his robes and pulled out his wand. He Siphoned and Scoured their skin and clothes, and then he slowly tucked his cock away and buttoned up his trousers. He stared at Bellatrix and informed her,

"I can't touch you. Not there. It's not the same, you understand… you touching me, you deciding that you want to touch me, and me touching your body there… it doesn't seem like the same thing. It just doesn't. Not yet."

"All right." Bellatrix looked disappointed, and Voldemort nodded.

"You are frustrated because you are aroused."

Bellatrix said nothing, so he bent and kissed her for a moment, taking his time, going slowly, and when he pulled away, he told her,

"I can help you finish. Give me permission, and I know a spell. Something I learnt in a seedy joint in Glasgow a long time ago."

"What, it will… induce a climax?" Bellatrix was full of clinical language since reading that damned book, Voldemort thought. He smirked and nodded, and Bellatrix straightened her back.

"I can do that upstairs to myself," she assured him, and suddenly his breath caught at the idea of her touching herself. But he shrugged and said,

"All right. I thought I'd offer. Seeing as how you can't do magic and you're already… you know…"

"Wet," she finished, and he laughed a little. She seemed to be considering something, and finally she settled back against the bookshelves and whispered,

"Yes, please, Master."

"Oh." He was nervous all of a sudden. He cleared his throat and aimed his wand at her lower abdomen, and he murmured, " _Potens Gaudens._ "

It took a moment, but then her eyes fluttered slowly shut, and she tipped her head back, and her fingers flew up to the chest of Voldemort's robes. She squeezed hard there, her eyes wrenched shut. Her back arched a little, and her mouth fell open. He tried not to imagine what was happening right now to her, what was occurring beneath that nightgown. A tortured little sound escaped her, and then a low moan, and then she whispered,

"Oh, Master. Master. Master…"

"Bella." He was in awe of her. He'd been in awe of her earlier, when she'd been dancing. He'd been in awe of her for weeks now. He was in awe of her cruel nature, of what she was capable of doing, of what she'd already done. Of her future, of her very self, of her… of  _her._  "Bellatrix."

She was quiet then, her face shining a little and her breath coming quickly and unevenly. She finally opened her eyes and asked seriously,

"Have I made  _that_ sort of villain of you, Master?"

His stomach hurt a little, but he shook his head and insisted, "No. No, I don't think so."

"Good." She released his robes, and he took a step back from her, forcing himself to keep from spending the next hour kissing her. Instead he said,

"You'll be wanting a long bath, I expect, and a nice long sleep. It was an excellent performance. Really. You danced beautifully."

She smiled at him, her eyes warmer than he'd ever seen them, and she nodded as she headed for the office door.

"Thank you, Master."

**Author's Note: Whew! Like I said, this was written by a very drunk person, so please forgive that! Looks like most FF functionality is back up (HOORAY). Thank you for your patience with that. Reviews are treasured like gold. Love to all.**


	12. Trapped

"Well, Lucius… I hope you have a fine school term," Bellatrix said, folding her hands before her as Dobby the House-Elf used his magic to drag Lucius' trunk up onto a dolly, which he Levitated and started taking out toward the gardens of the manor. Lucius stood in his school robes, nodding, and he said hesitantly,

"Feels wrong, I think. You should be coming back. You're meant to be a sixth-year, Bellatrix."

"Well, it's my own fault," she reminded him. "And, anyway, I don't miss school. Not anymore. I had a lot of enemies there. And I'm happy here."

He scoffed and looked around the house where he'd grown up, at least when he wasn't at his mother's place in Wales, and he shook his head. "I hope you don't feel too trapped."

"No more trapped than you are at Hogwarts," she reminded him, and he nodded in conciliation. Bellatrix handed Lucius two small scrolls and asked, "Will you give these to my sisters on the trains? They're labeled. Just a little good luck note to each of them for the start of term."

"Oh. Yes, of course." Lucius took the little notes and tucked them into his heavy Hogwarts cloak, and he flicked Bellatrix a little smile.

"Lucius, we've got to get going, or we'll miss the train," said Abraxas Malfoy, who was heading down the stairs. "Your mother's going to meet us at King's Cross so she can embarrass you by kissing your cheeks, eh?"

He smiled, and Lucius laughed a little. Bellatrix nodded and stepped back.

"See you at the Christmas holidays, then, Lucius."

"Yeah. Have a happy birthday, Bella," Lucius said, and then he followed Abraxas out of the manor as they both gave her fond little looks over their shoulders. The door seemed to shut with a particularly heavy thud, leaving Bellatrix all alone. Lord Voldemort was in Leicester today, she'd been told, meeting with a few of his Death Eaters in a small meeting at Avery Hall. She wasn't privy to the details, though he'd told her it had to do with the systematic sacking of Mudbloods from their Ministry positions in various departments. Apparently it was going well, because Voldemort had been in rather a cheery mood for the last few days whilst he'd been communicating with Avery, Nott, Yaxley, Rookwood, and a few others about it.

But Bellatrix wasn't a Death Eater, so she wasn't allowed more information than that. As it was, Voldemort had admitted, he'd already told her entirely too much. She wanted to be a Death Eater. She'd told him as much one evening when they'd been sitting outside on the pergola, and he'd agreed that if she trained well over the next year, that on her eighteenth birthday, he would brand her as one of his soldiers.

Twenty-one days.

There were twenty-one days now until her birthday. They were both very aware of that. She hadn't touched his cock again, not since the day her parents had come for a visit and she'd danced Starlina's solo. She'd danced for Voldemort. Of course she had. And she'd adored the feel of him in her hand, of his  _come_ , as the book had said people called it, all over her hand and skirts. She'd quite liked the crush of his kisses, the feel of his mouth on her neck, the rush of the orgasm he'd given her.

But they hadn't done anything like that since. Instead, their time together had been very studious. Sometimes he would come to her dance studio and put some lively music on, telling her to imagine and enemy in the mirror and ordering her to do her battle dancing with her wand. He always seemed a bit flustered after that, and sometimes he would let her kiss him a little, but nothing more. Other times, they would sit outside by the creek in the last vestiges of summer, murmuring to one another about goblin rebellions and the theory of potioneering, him the dutiful tutor until sometimes he'd bend and kiss her as she lay on the blanket. But nothing more.

Twenty-one days. Bellatrix was now at the point where she would lie in her bed at night with the copy of  _The Witch and the Wizard_  and read it until she nodded off. She'd read about what sexual intercourse was, about spells were used to prevent contraception for a single interaction or for a month or longer. She'd read about fellatio, about taking a man's member in her mouth. She'd read about the reverse, about a wizard putting his mouth between her legs, and the thought of Voldemort doing that had made Bellatrix put the book down and touch herself until she'd writhed and squealed.

Now she stood alone in the foyer of Malfoy Manor and tried to think of something to do with her day. She'd spent the entire night before tossing and turning, thinking and suffering through wisps of dreams, knowing that she wouldn't see Voldemort at all today. She huffed a sigh, shutting her eyes and wondering if she should go dance. She didn't feel much like dancing. She was bleeding like a sieve, and though she'd done calisthenics upon waking and had taken a potion for the lingering cramping, she didn't feel like moving in the way dancing required. Being a witch was rather a bother, she thought absently. It seemed as though being a wizard would be significantly more convenient.

Reading, she thought, was probably the answer. She felt rather like curling up with a good book and a cup of tea. And, anyway, it was dreary outside today. It was as if the Wiltshire sky were aware that the Hogwarts Express would be steaming students back off to Hogwarts today, and that summer was over. It was downright chilly outside, and as Bellatrix went up the main stairs and walked down the corridor, she could hear the patter of a soft rain outside the windows. She made her way into the library, pausing for a moment to observe a portrait on the wall. It was of a rather beautiful blonde witch cradling a newborn baby, and she looked up and held a finger to her lips to make Bellatrix be quiet. The painted baby was sleeping, the portrait mother was saying. Bellatrix just nodded and went to the bookshelves, finally deciding upon a worn old copy of  _The Definitive Guide to Dragons._

She pulled the thick velvet rope that magically summoned Dobby, and after a moment, he appeared in the library with a  _crack_. Bellatrix said simply to him,

"I'd like some rose tea. Bit of honey."

"Yes, Miss." Dobby began waving his arms carefully, clearly Summoning materials up from the stores in the kitchens. He shut his eyes, concentrating hard. House-Elf magic was different from wizarding magic, Bellatrix knew. Still, it had always been interesting to watch, since it worked so differently. Soon enough, Dobby was putting a lacquered wooden tray on the low table beside a velvet armchair, and upon it was a pot of hot water, an empty china cup, a small plate with a bag of rose tea, and a little pot of honey. There was a cloth napkin, too. Bellatrix thought to herself that Dobby gave a lot more attention to detail than her family's frantic, careless House-Elf. She cleared her throat and said,

"That'll do."

"Yes, Miss. Please let Dobby know if Miss needs anything else, Miss." Dobby went scurrying quickly from the library, and Bellatrix sat with her book on dragons. She pulled the window beside her open a little, wanting to watch and hear the rain and not minding the brisk air. She made herself a cup of tea and and started to read about Antipodean Opaleyes. It was comfortable, she thought, and after awhile, she found herself realising what the alternative was. She was sitting in a comfortable chair with a warm cup of tea and a book, she thought. Instead, she could be off to school to be bullied and despised by her fellow students, to be forced to attend lessons with McGonagall and the other teachers who hated or feared her or both.

So she was glad she'd been expelled, and she was certainly glad that Voldemort had arranged for this odd house arrest wherein he was her guardian. In nineteen days, they'd have another meeting with Isadora Stevens, this one more elaborate, since it would involve a written exam and a stern lecture about use of magic after Bellatrix's birthday. But for now, today, Bellatrix was sipping tea and staring out a window at the chilly rain. For now, she was slowly turning the page to the chapter on Chinese Fireballs.

"Bellatrix?"

She gasped a little and turned her head, starting to stand. Voldemort gestured for her to stay sitting, and he smiled a bit as he came into the room and sat in the chair opposite her. His hair and robes were damp, and he looked so peacefully content that for a very long moment, Bellatrix said nothing. She shut her book and drank the last of her tea, and finally she murmured,

"I'd thought you wouldn't be back until evening, Master."

"The meeting went better than I'd hoped," he said. He smirked a bit and informed her, "Your grandfather Pollux gave me twenty thousand Galleons this month. Twenty thousand. I can use it to pay people off, reward people. There have been eleven Mudbloods sacked from the Ministry, and every single one of them's been replaced with either a bonafide Death Eater or the relative of one. I have insiders now. I'll know the workings of the Ministry. I'll be able to know precisely what's going on in all the departments. I'll be able to call in favours, to put a stop to a proceeding or order a slight change of policy. I will have power. Underground power, secret power. But, still… my hand will be guiding things a bit now."

His lips curled up, and Bellatrix grinned as he finally found her eyes. Something compelled her to ask him,

"When will there be battles?"

His smile grew. "When they start to fear me enough to attack me. I dunno. A year… well, two years, probably, being realistic."

Suddenly Bellatrix realised that perhaps her house arrest wouldn't end with a Wizengamot reassessment. Perhaps she would go straight into the Dark service of her master. She looked down at her left forearm and traced her fingernail there. He'd shown her his own Dark Mark, and she wanted one of her own. She craved it. She heard him murmur,

"Next year. If you're very good."

She smiled up at him, wanting him so badly that her chest hurt. She nodded, and he pulled her book off of her lap.

"Dragons," he said. "I've seen loads of them in person. Have you ever seen one?"

"Not a real one, Master," she admitted. He turned the book around in his hands and breathed out a sigh.

"Perhaps someday you will," he shrugged. "I reckon you'll see a lot of things you didn't think you would, Bellatrix. You're not on the Hogwarts Express. Are you disappointed?"

"No." She said the word very confidently, and he nodded. He flicked his wand to Banish the book on Dragons back to the bookshelf where she'd found it, and he leaned forward onto his knees a little.

"You are going to be relentlessly loyal to me," he said, his black eyes boring into hers with an intensity she could hardly endure. He reached for her hands, squeezed a little, and continued, "When they speak of you, they will use words that you once thought were insults. Words those children at Hogwarts thought would wound you.  _Barbarous. Monstrous. Nefarious. Cruel. Wicked. Depraved._  But you will wear those words with pride. You will live them. You will be them. My soldier. My Bellatrix. Hmm?"

She felt tears worming their way from her eyes, streaming down over her cheeks in tandem with the rain on the cold glass beside her. She nodded as he squeezed her hands again, and he told her,

"In nineteen days, you will pass a written exam so that the Ministry has confidence that you will not be casting any jinxes, hexes, or curses under the terms of your house arrest. And you and I will go to that meeting in nineteen days, sharply dressed, polite and professional. The diligent legal guardian and his repentant, obedient ward. We will fool them all, because none of them will know about the cruel, wicked, depraved witch who dances with a wand in her hand."

She smiled a little at him, her chest aching for him, and he nodded as he leaned toward her further.

"And then, Bellatrix, two days after that, your parents will come here to celebrate your birthday. And there will be dinner, and there will be cake, and we will all sing to you, and everyone will tell you goodnight. And you'll go off to your suite and get yourself into a nightgown and that scandalous black lace thing you wore when you came to my rooms for Dreamless Sleep. And then what will happen, Bellatrix? What happens next?"

She licked her bottom lip, feeling quite breathless, and she shrugged a little.

"Anything… anything you want," she whispered, but he shook his head, brushed his knuckles over her tears, and leaned forward more until he touched his lips to hers.

"No, Bellatrix," he whispered. "Anything  _you_  want."

He stood slowly, pulling her up with him. He put his lips beside Bellatrix's ear, and suddenly she could hardly keep herself upright. She was profoundly dizzy, and she felt his hand press to the small of her back, pulling her against him as his other fingers snared into her curls. His breath was warm beside her, and the air from the window was cold on the other side. She heard rain; she heard his breathing. She sighed and put her hands to the chest of his robes, and he whispered,

"Twenty-one days from now, Bellatrix, I am going to give us both every last thing that we want. Everything. Enough waiting. I don't want to wait anymore, but I will wait twenty-one days more and no longer. After the dinner, and the cake, and the singing… after all that… then I will give you a proper birthday gift. I promise us both."

She leaned her head onto his chest, surprised by the way he wrapped her up into an embrace. This felt very intimate, being held by him like this. It felt romantic, not just erotic. It felt like he cared for her, like he wanted her beyond her flesh. She cinched her fingers on his robes and whispered,

"Master…"

He kissed the top of her head, and when she looked up at him, he pressed his lips to hers.

"Mmm," he hummed. "I have to go to my office. Work to do."

**Author's Note: Oh, my. So his feelings for her are really starting to viscerally extend beyond lust, especially now that he can see a future on the not-so-distant horizon where there actually would be battles and combat. We've only got nineteen days until the Ministry meeting with the written exam (next chapter), and then in the chapter after that… her birthday! Obviously, her birthday's going to be broken up into several chapters for… reasons… mwah hahaha.**


	13. Exam

"Master, would you please… would you mind explaining to me why it is that they're staying the night before?"

Voldemort smirked at the way Bellatrix had come huffing into his office. He'd sent a little note up to her suite informing her that her parents would be arriving on the evening of the twentieth and staying overnight in a guest suite. He folded his hands on the desk and said primly,

"Believe me, Bellatrix; I had every intention of conquering you like a damned blackguard the moment the clock struck midnight and you were of legal age. And then I meant to do it again after cake, after shuffling everyone out of the house. But your father and Abraxas and I have to meet on the twentieth about finances, because it's a Friday. The goblins at Gringotts prefer to meet with wizards on Sunday mornings. So we have to get that business out of the way the day before your birthday. Understood?"

Bellatrix sighed, looking petulant and childish. She'd wanted to lose her virginity during the night, the instant she turned seventeen. Voldemort curled up half his mouth and continued,

"Anyway, your mother wants to half a nice ladies' brunch with you on your birthday, and -"

" _Ladies' brunch_ ," Bellatrix repeated, looking horrified. She crossed her arms and begged, "Can't we cancel? Can't we just uninvite everyone, Master?"

He laughed. "Yes. Let me just draught a letter.  _Dear Cygnus and Druella, whilst we were looking forward to having you here at the manor, unfortunately, your daughter's impatient carnal appetites are such that you are no longer welcome to come celebrate her birthday._ "

Bellatrix looked like she was trying not to roll her eyes. She was immensely frustrated, Voldemort knew. Well, so was he. The last nineteen days had been absolute hell. He'd finally sworn off watching her dance. He couldn't take it after awhile - seeing her writhe and move, often with a wand clutched in her hand, wearing just her leotard and rehearsal skirt. He couldn't keep himself from pinning her to the wall and kissing her, tasting sweat on her neck. A few times, she'd touched his cock until he'd come all over the floor between them. More than once, he'd used his fingers over the material of her leotard to rub at her until she was panting and coming, her back arched and her arms threaded around him. How he'd managed to keep himself from just carrying her up into his bedroom and claiming her, he didn't quite know. He always felt like he was seconds away from breaking, like the slightest provocation would do him in.

He'd been working with her a week earlier earlier on duelling stances, on incorporating her dance moves into combat, and he'd been adjusting her arm position.  _Keep your secondary arm over your head for stability_ , he'd told her, and he'd physically adjusted her. When she'd whirled round in a move, he'd caught her in a kiss, and it had lasted for so long that they'd both lost their breath and her wand had clattered to the floor. He'd had a sudden, vibrant image in his mind of her against the wall, her legs around him, the crotch of her leotard yanked aside.

He hadn't watched her dance since then.

They'd been working these last several days on the theory of combat, because as soon as she was of age, Voldemort planned on dueling her with him wandless and her using his wand. So he'd had her do readings on historical duels - learning about why the winner won and the loser lost - as well as wizarding wars and battle styles. She had memorised all the hexes and jinxes imaginable, of course, but they'd had long talks about things like Shield Charms, Disarming and Disabling spells, as well as strategic Stupefying with the end game of interrogation as opposed to automatic Killing Curses. They'd had long talks about Occlumency, a skill that Voldemort intended on teaching Bellatrix sometime in the next few months, as well as the idea of using the Cruciatus in interrogation - a skill that would come much, much later.

Today was the day of the last Ministry meeting before Bellatrix's seventeenth birthday. Of course, it wasn't as though Voldemort could walk into that meeting and proudly declare that his still-sixteen-year-old ward was making excellent progress toward becoming a particularly bloodthirsty soldier against the Ministry. Instead, he would be watching her pass her written exam and would be assuring Isadora Stevens that there was nothing improper happening between him and Bellatrix. His last written communication with the Ministry had been met with a sharp inquiry about whether or not Bellatrix's ' _modesty and innocence_ ' were being maintained in the guardian-ward relationship. Tom Riddle had written back with a sugary reassurance, all the while thinking of the taste of Bellatrix in her dance studio.

"Are you ready to leave?" he asked her, looking her up and down. She was wearing a simple black tweed dress with a black silk cape through which she had put her arms. Her hair had been tied back into a demure low ponytail, and she wore a pair of pearl earrings. She looked positively sweet, practically virtuous in how she'd dressed. Voldemort knew better, of course. Everyone knew better. No one would mistake Bellatrix Black for a domestic, warm-hearted sort of creature. But here she was, in black tweed and pearls, and she nodded as she stepped further into the office.

"I'm ready to go, Master."

"The Portkey leaves in two minutes." He rose and looked at the clock, walking around his desk. He smiled a little at her and asked, "Bit late now to find out otherwise, but… you think you're ready for the exam?"

She smiled. "I'm ready."

"Good." He flexed his fingers and nodded down at her, and suddenly he was the one feeling nervous. He licked his lip and admitted, "I hope she can't tell. Stevens. I need to, erm… need to try not to look at you much, probably. I think I'm a bit obvious when I do."

"Oh." Bellatrix seemed rather affected by that. Her eyes went wet, and she hummed a little noise that made it seem like she was trying not to get emotional. She reached for Voldemort's hand suddenly, almost impulsively, and he looked down at the way her fingers threaded through his. She cleared her throat firmly and told him, "I think you have been a very good legal guardian thus far, Master. Not that anyone cares much for my opinion on the matter."

He looked up at the clock and murmured, "Thirty seconds."

He just stared at their hands then, at the way they were holding onto one another. He thought of all the times in the last few weeks that she had felt like a drug, the times that she'd felt like a sweet relief. He could taste her now. He could feel her cheek, warm and soft beneath his palm. He could hear her quietly moaning voice beside his ear. He could sense her fingers around him, and he started to go a little hard. He pulled his hand away from hers and said,

"I won't tell Isadora Stevens what a perfect soldier you'll be. Ten seconds. Let's go."

* * *

"Mr Riddle. Miss Black. Do sit down." Isadora Stevens shut her office door behind them all and went to sit at her severely organised desk. She moved quickly and efficiently to pull out a few sheets of parchment, and she said, "Let's get our interview done straight away so that Miss Black can complete her examination. First of all, Mr Riddle. Thank you for your comprehensive summaries of your work thus far with with Miss Black. Have you anything to add to them, Miss Black? Do you feel you are making good progress in the areas of temper management and social development?"

Bellatrix nodded fervently. "I think, Mrs Stevens, that I've learnt quite a lot over the last few months about self control."

Voldemort tried not to smirk. There was a double entendre there that Isadora Stevens couldn't understand, or at least he hoped she wouldn't understand it. Bellatrix kept her face at once stony and innocent as she added,

"We have been working every day, ma'am, on theoretical studies as well as practical application of the ideas. Mr Riddle has been very devoted in his mentorship. And I am made to feel comfortable at Malfoy Manor. I am very grateful. I am well aware that I have wronged wizarding society by having cast an Unforgivable. I vow never to do so again, and I know now what I must do to have a better hold on myself and to be a more contributive witch going forward."

"I heard that you sent a formal letter of apology to Miss Josephine Glass, the victim of your Cruciatus Curse," Isadora Stevens said. "I received a copy."

"I did send it," Bellatrix nodded, "but whether she accepts it or not is her choice. I shall work hard in my punishment just the same."

Voldemort was shocked then. She was acting. She was acting  _well_. She was behaving like a perfectly contrite little child. He knew so much better. He'd heard her whisper on rainy nights about what she wanted to do to Jamie McLaggen. He'd seen her, sweaty and tired after hours of dancing, whipping her wand at an enemy in a mirror. But now she gave Isadora Stevens a weak little smile, and Mrs Stevens seemed immensely pleased. Voldemort watched as Mrs Stevens wrote on her parchment,

_Miss Black appears to be far more aware of the serious nature of her crime, and she is more calm and appropriate in carriage. Her therapy as described by her legal guardian seems to be having a greatly positive overall effect._   _She is benefitting from her current house arrest arrangement, by my assessment._

"Well," Mrs Stevens said, "I am happy to see you in this state, Miss Black. I must say, it is always a relief to see people whose crimes are serious at a young age make progress. Now. You are about to turn seventeen years of age."

Voldemort felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Her eyes flicked to his. She was about to turn seventeen years of age. That meant something very different to them than it meant to Isadora Stevens. He gulped hard, trying to mentally focus on the other benefit of her ageing up - the idea of her out in the lawn, using his wand to throw hexes at him whilst he Shielded himself wandlessly. He blinked quickly a few times and stood, walking over to where there was a pitcher of ice water with lemon slices. He poured himself a glass, then poured a second one and brought it to Bellatrix. She thanked him softly, and when he sat, he drank so quickly that he thought perhaps it was obvious something was wrong.

"I apologise; I've got a bit of autumn allergies," he said to Isadora Stevens, clearing his throat. Mrs Stevens ignored him and said to Bellatrix,

"As you are very well aware, you are only permitted to cast spells that are categorised by the Ministry as 'Harmless.' That means that you may Conjure, but you may not Vanish. You may Transfigure objects, but human Transfiguration is not allowed. You may brew Potions, though absolutely nothing considered a poison. You may cast any Charm that isn't a jinx, hex, or curse. To ensure that you fully understand the limitations of the magic you are allowed to perform, you will be administered a written exam now. You must pass the exam with a score of ninety percent or higher in order to keep your wand. You may sit at this desk over here and work, and I will examine your wand and speak with Mr Riddle whilst you take the exam."

He watched as Bellatrix was shown a very small desk, obviously one that had been brought in, and was given a quill and ink pot. Mrs Stevens calmly explained the layout of the exam to Bellatrix. There was a section where she had to identify whether the given incantation was a jinx, a hex, a curse, or a harmless spell. Then she had to write a paragraph explaining why Unforgivables were in their own category of Ministry classification. There was a section asking for three examples of permitted and prohibited Transfiguration spells, as well as three permitted and prohibited potions. Then there was a section outlining the exact legal guidelines to which Bellatrix had to adhere, and she had to initial beside each one and sign at the end of the exam. Mrs Stevens came back over to her desk as Bellatrix dutifully set to work, looking very much like a girl who should be a sixth-year student at Hogwarts.

"So, you find she is doing well, Mr Riddle?" Mrs Stevens asked softly as she sat, and Voldemort nodded silently, trying not to disturb Bellatrix at her exam. Mrs Stevens pulled out her assessment parchment and asked in a murmur, "Do you affirm that she is being provided food, water, clothing, bathing facilities, and recreational time in addition to her therapy and rehabilitation work?"

Voldemort frowned. "Yes. Of course. She has a dance studio. She reads in the library, out on the pergola. She's very comfortable."

Mrs Stevens smirked, just a tiny bit, as she wrote something down. Then she raised her eyes and said in a voice just above a whisper,

"Mr Riddle, I must remind you that, regardless of her being of legal age, the terms of her house arrest are such that, as her legal guardian, you are prohibited from engaging in any semblance of carnal relations with Miss Black."

Bellatrix glanced up from her exam, pink-cheeked and frowning, and Voldemort gulped. He shook his head at Mrs Stevens, keeping his face stern, and he said loudly enough for Bellatrix to hear,

"Mrs Stevens, I have no idea why you would even bring anything like that up. I am very aware of the contract I signed. Thank you."

"Good." Mrs Stevens put her parchments in her folder then, and they waited for Bellatrix to finish her exam. It was an awkward silence in the office, long and heavy. Mrs Stevens certainly suspected something, Voldemort could tell, and she wasn't wrong. Isadora Stevens seemed like a rather insightful witch, if he was honest. She could probably tell just by the way Voldemort moved around Bellatrix that he was attracted to her. So he couldn't be angry with the woman. And it would be absolute folly to let anything happen to her right now. All he could do was what Bellatrix had so wisely done, which was to play the innocent.

"I've finished, Mrs Stevens," Bellatrix said, rising from her desk and bringing her exam over to the Ministry employee. She sat down beside Voldemort, flashing him a nervous little smile, as Mrs Stevens brought out a pot of red ink. She began scanning the exam, looking for incorrect answers. When she didn't mark anything on the first page, Bellatrix breathed a sigh of relief. Voldemort smirked a bit. Of course she'd get a perfect score. Mrs Stevens checked the second and third pages and then wrote back on the front page,  _100%_.

"Well, you did perfectly, Miss Black," she pronounced, filing the exam away with the other assessment papers. She folded her hands on the desk and said very tightly, "I wish you a most happy birthday, Miss Black."

**Author's Note: Awwww, yeah. She passed her exam. But her parents are kind of cock-blocking the night she actually turns seventeen. D'oh! Now she and Voldemort are going to wind up awfully… hungry… by the time cake is served, no? In the next chapter, we get to actually celebrate Bellatrix's birthday. Things are about to get a little warm around here…**


	14. Seventeen

"So, if you look at this ledger, Master, you can see that we now have monthly income from twenty-one families," Cygnus Black was saying. Voldemort nodded numbly. Cygnus pointed to a line on the ledger and said, "Here you can see that we've increased the Yaxleys' monthly contribution from thirty to forty Galleons."

"Mm-hmm." Voldemort sipped from his glass of red wine. He felt woozy; was this his third glass? Fourth? He'd been drinking since before Cygnus and Druella had arrived. The hours until midnight, until nighttime the next day, seemed to be moving by at a snail's pace.

"We'll go ahead and set up automatic monthly withdrawals and deposits, then," Abraxas Malfoy said, nodding. "The goblins at Gringotts don't ask  _why_ ; they only need all the proper documentation. So long as we have the right permission from these twenty-one families, then the goblins will ensure that monthly contributions are moved from their vaults into your vault, Master. From there, you can delegate funds as you see fit."

"All right." Voldemort swigged down the rest of his glass of elf-made wine, and it refilled itself, as he'd asked Dobby to have it do. Cygnus frowned deeply as Voldemort put his head in his hands. Abraxas gave Voldemort a knowing look, but Cygnus asked,

"Master, are you… are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Voldemort lied. He shut his eyes. What was he meant to say?  _Actually, Cygnus, the trouble is that my body is very well aware that, twenty-four hours from now, I'm going to be peeling your daughter's clothes off of her. Something I've been aching to do for months._

"Master," Abraxas said quietly, "I think Druella and Bellatrix went up to the dance studio so that Bellatrix could do another piece from  _Starlina_. Did you want to -"

"No." Voldemort shook his head, his eyes still shut. He couldn't watch her dance right now. If he did, he would snatch her right off of the floor and take her against the wall, in front of everybody. His heart began to race where he sat, and he murmured, "I apologise, gentlemen. I've not slept well in a few days. I've been troubled."

That was not altogether untrue; he'd spent the last few nights frantically touching himself and panting up at the ceiling, knowing she was right beneath him, knowing she was still sixteen. He picked up his glass of red wine and drank deeply, all the way until it was empty, and he slammed the glass down on the desk. He stood quickly and said,

"I'm tired. I'm going to bed. Cygnus, I hope your suite is comfortable. I'm sure Abraxas will make you feel at home. Goodnight, gentlemen."

As he moved quickly out of his office, leaving Abraxas and Cygnus behind, he heard them say in confused voices,

"Goodnight, Master."

* * *

"Bellatrix, you are shaking like a leaf. Darling, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Mum," Bellatrix lied, setting down her teacup with a clatter. The night before, midnight had come and gone without any ceremony. She'd watched the minute hand on her wall clock go from 11:59 to 12:01, and nothing had happened. She hadn't changed. She hadn't become an adult in that moment. But she was legally able to be touched by him now, in ways that hadn't been allowed before. She was of age. She could train properly; he could take her body.

She had slid her fingers into her knickers at 12:03 and had whispered for him.  _Master._  The word had hissed through the air like steam, and when she'd come, she'd imagined that he'd been in the bed with her, touching her, kissing her, hard for her. She'd known that he must be awake, exactly above her, and she'd wanted to scream out in hopes that he might hear her. But instead she'd just stared up at the ceiling, up at his floor, and she'd whispered every now and then for him.  _Master. I am yours now._

Only, because her parents had come to celebrate her birthday, she couldn't be alone with him until later tonight. Somehow, this last day of waiting was managing to be worse torture than the last three months. For weeks upon weeks, they had waited. Through kisses and fondling, they had restrained themselves. They had left their clothes on even when instinct had shrieked to rip everything off. They had held back. But now, in these last hours, Bellatrix felt like a powder keg about to explode. She wrenched her eyes shut where she sat, and her mother asked,

"Are you unwell, Bella?"

"No, Mum," Bellatrix whispered. She opened her eyes and shook her head firmly. "No. I'm fine."

Druella looked confused, and then she asked, "Are you anxious? Has something about your birthday got you anxious?"  
Bellatrix gulped hard, trying to think of something to throw her mother off her scent. "It's just that I'm allowed to do some magic now. I don't want to accidentally use a forbidden spell and get myself into trouble. I don't want to go mucking things up. Not when it's all going so well. That's all."

Druella nodded knowingly and cut a bite of her omelette. "Oh, yes, dear. That makes sense. I'm sure the Dark Lord will see to it that you use your magic wisely. He is handling all of this with such aplomb. You are in much better shape than I have ever seen you. We know you must be devastated not to be at school, dear, but -"

"No. I'm not." Bellatrix almost growled that bit, and Druella looked surprised. Bellatrix set her knife and fork down and said,

"They made up horrid rhymes about me. They hissed when I walked by in the corridors. They said no one would ever marry me, that a wizard would be too afraid to get murdered in his sleep. They booed me at the talent show. That Mudblood girl calling me a bitch in McGonagall's lesson was just the last straw. I'd had enough, Mum."

"You are in danger of losing your temper, Bellatrix," Druella said tightly, and Bellatrix hit the table with her hand as she snarled,

"No! You must understand. That place was toxic. They didn't understand me there! They didn't understand that I -"

"Sorry to interrupt."

She whirled over her shoulder at the sound of Voldemort's voice. He'd appeared in the dining room doorway, and he gave Bellatrix a meaningful look. He had bags under his eyes and seemed either sleep-deprived or hungover. Both, probably, given how drunk he'd seemed the night before when he'd gone up to bed early. He drummed his fingers on the doorway and told Bellatrix,

"Couldn't help but hear you getting a little over excited, Bellatrix. Watch the anger, if you please. The last thing you need is accidentally throwing out a jinx on your birthday."

"Yes, sir." Bellatrix folded her hands in her lap, and Druella nodded as Voldemort walked off down the corridor.

"You see?" she said to Bellatrix. "See? You do need to be here. With him. He is good for you, Bella."

"Yes," Bellatrix agreed, glad they could find common ground at last. "Yes. He is."

A few hours later, everyone had gathered in a parlour to give Bellatrix her gifts, which felt profoundly embarrassing. Bellatrix wasn't one to be the centre of attention, but here she was, sitting in a wicker chair with everyone gathered round her. She smiled weakly as Abraxas Malfoy handed her a large box, and she mumbled,

"I feel like I should be giving you the gift, Mr Malfoy."

"On the contrary, Miss Black; your presence warms the household," he said kindly. That was funny, Bellatrix thought; she'd never been accused of being warm. But Abraxas said, "And you can thank Aeta for this; she sent it all the way from Wales."

"Did she? How very kind." Bellatrix opened up the box and gasped a bit at the heavy, beautifully knitted dark grey shawl with its tortoiseshell button.

"Is that a Welsh style wrap?" breathed Druella. "Oh, that Aeta. She was always so good with knitting charms. I'll bet she made that all on her own."

"She did. She says it's for the coming autumn and winter," Abraxas said. Bellatrix marveled not only at the knitwear, but at the way that Abraxas and Aeta Malfoy somehow managed to be so amiable to one another even in separation. She thanked Abraxas as profusely as she could, and then she opened a box from her parents.

"Oh! New pointe shoes. Thanks, Mum. Thanks, Dad." Bellatrix smiled warmly at them, and Druella insisted,

"We know they wear out quickly. There's another box with new tights and leg warmers and leotards, but you can open that later."

"Well, thank you," Bellatrix said. She felt her stomach flop then, for Voldemort was approaching her chair and handing her a little box, a small rectangle, and she shook her head up at him.

"N-No, Master," she mumbled. "You don't have to… you didn't have to…"

" _Thank you,_ " he corrected her with a smirk, and she finally nodded and whispered,

"Thank you."

He sat back down, looking a little anxious as he said, "It's actually a little bit of a joke. It's… erm… well, I'll explain when you open it."

Bellatrix was confused, and Abraxas Malfoy cocked up a brow at his master as if he knew something Bellatrix didn't. She ripped off the silver paper and put it in the rubbish bin beside her, and her fingers shook madly as she opened the small box.

"What is it?" Druella asked, and Bellatrix said curiously,

"It's a key."

"More specifically," Voldemort said, as though he were letting out a breath, "it is a key necklace. And if you look at the top of the key, you'll notice there's a compass. Go ahead and spin the dial on the compass."

Bellatrix frowned, but she did as he said. She pulled out the beautiful, ornately carved brass key and flicked at the black dial on the compass that had been carved into the top part of the key. The dial spun quickly, and when it slowed, it settled and aimed directly at Voldemort. She smiled up at him, and he shrugged.

"It'll always point you straight to your legal guardian," he said, quirking up half his mouth. "Not that that'll matter much when you're stuck here at the manor, but… you know."

Battle. Someday it might matter in a battle, if she was lost and couldn't track him down. Her eyes welled suddenly, and she was so overcome with emotion that she could hardly breathe. She just pulled the brass chain over her neck and touched at the key and nodded. She couldn't thank him; if she spoke, she'd cry, and she couldn't cry. Not right now.

Luckily, someone had the idea of playing charades, so they moved on to that. They had an uneven number, so Abraxas played with Druella and Cygnus, and Bellatrix played with Voldemort. Druella and Cygnus, it turned out, were not good at guessing, and poor Abraxas gesticulated wildly as a mountain troll whilst Bellatrix's parents repeatedly screamed that he was a pixie. When it was Voldemort's turn, he shook his head and mumbled something about a being a grown man making a fool of himself. He read his card out of the bowl, set it down, and raised his eyebrows at Bellatrix. Abraxas turned over the hourglass, and Voldemort cleared his throat. He aimed his wand hand out and mimed the twisting action of casting a Memory Charm.

"You're Obliviating someone," Bellatrix guessed, and Voldemort nodded. He tapped at his head and then burst his fingers out and looked surprised. Bellatrix gasped. "You've had the idea of Obliviating someone. You've… you've invented Obliviating someone."

She was being urged on by Voldemort's grins and nodding, and she cried,

"Mnemone Radford!"

"How could you  _possibly_  get that right?" Abraxas Malfoy complained loudly, and Cygnus Black exclaimed,

"Oh, well done! My goodness; I should say your education certainly is continuing on track, Bellatrix."

Bellatrix thought that her mind simply worked well with her master's, but she didn't say that. They won the game easily, and by the time they went downstairs for dinner, everyone was in good spirits. But as she sat, she was tingling, thinking about what was going to happen in a few hours. She'd memorised the segment from the book,  _Witches and Wizards_ , about a witch's first time with intercourse.

' _Pain and discomfort to varying degrees are perfectly normal during the first time one experiences intercourse. So, too, is a little bit of bleeding. However, the absence of bleeding does not mean one is not virginal, and the absence of pain simply means the body is exceptionally relaxed. To help avoid excess discomfort, take plenty of time to work your way up to penetration. As we say many times in this book, "The Wetter the Better." This is certainly true when it comes to your first time experiencing intercourse. Working the body up into the highest state of arousal possible will help ease the transition from foreplay into penetration. Just remember to cast your contraceptive charm before the fun begins so you can focus on enjoying yourself, and bear in mind that the second, third, and hundredth times having sex will likely be more fun and much easier than the first time. Practise makes perfect in many things, and sex is no exception.'_

"Bellatrix?"

She looked up from her leeks in vinaigrette, only then realising she'd been completely lost in thought. Voldemort was holding up a flute of Champagne, and he gave her a tiny smile as he reminded her,

"You can have this now."

Her mouth fell open at that. She swallowed hard, knowing that he was referring to so much more than the Champagne. She picked up her glass, and he said in a voice she knew was feigning calm,

"I should like to propose a birthday toast to my ward," he said, and everyone grinned. He nodded and said sincerely, "Bellatrix. You made a mistake. But that mistake will probably wind up having been the best decision you ever made. I am proud of you. I am very happy. I wish you nothing but contentment. And now you are a woman grown. Now you are seventeen. Happy birthday, Bellatrix."

"Happy birthday, Bellatrix," said everyone else, and she stared at Voldemort as she sipped her Champagne. It was tart and biting, not what she was used to, and she only took a few sips before returning to her water. She could only stomach a bite of the leeks before her fluttering belly rejected more. She thought she was going to pass out by the time the roast chicken and potato arrived on the plates. Abraxas was chatting with her parents about Quidditch. Voldemort was staring at her. Neither of them were eating.

"How do you find the chicken, My Lord?" Abraxas finally asked, very meaningfully. Voldemort snapped his eyes down to his plate, cut a bite, stuffed it into his mouth, and nodded silently. Bellatrix forced some chicken into her mouth and shut her eyes as she remembered another paragraph from the book.

' _It is extremely normal for a witch not to experience orgasm from penetration alone. Many witches require direct stimulation of the clitoris for an extended period of time to achieve climax. You may find that it is helpful to give due attention to the witch's body before penetration to ensure that she finds sufficient pleasure. After all, it is not enough for the wizard to get in, get out, and move on with life! A simple plan for beginning couples is to incorporate the witch's climax into foreplay. She can always finish again during intercourse, and this way, both parties enjoy themselves fully.'_

"Bellatrix?"

She was breathing heavily where she sat, she knew. She was sopping wet between her legs; was she getting the chair wet? Had she soaked through her knickers and skirt? She looked up to see that everyone was staring at her. Voldemort's cheeks were beet red. He knew what she was thinking about. Druella looked a little concerned and asked,

"Are you all right, dear?"

"Just, erm… you know, the taste of the Champagne. Not used to it," Bellatrix said, and the others laughed a bit.

"You poor thing," Druella smiled, sipping from her own glass. "Don't worry, Bellatrix. You'll get used to it."

Bellatrix nodded frantically. She turned her eyes to Voldemort, who looked similarly stricken, and he set his napkin on the table and asked,

"Would you please excuse me for a moment?"  
He didn't wait for anyone to answer. He quickly made his way out of the dining room. No one said anything; it would have been rude to do so. He might have been going to relieve himself for all anyone knew. But Bellatrix knew better. He needed a moment to breathe. So did she, but they couldn't leave at the same time. She tried to join the conversation about Quidditch, failed, and finally just listened. Her mind drifted, and she found herself imagining him kissing her in her dance studio, out on the pergola, in his office. She touched at the key he'd given her, and she stared down and spun the compass dial. It pointed toward the dining room door, and she looked up to see him walking back in, his face stern and less flushed. He sat down, nodded once, and said,

"Dobby's bringing the cake in."

"Oh, delightful!" Druella exclaimed. Bellatrix watched then as Dobby levitated in a beautiful vanilla cake covered in raspberries, with seventeen sputtering sparkler candles. The cake landed on the table gently, and the four others sang the traditional birthday song to Bellatrix. Voldemort's voice, she could hear, was shaking considerably. He stared at her through the glow of the candles, and as she stared back, she thought,

_I wish that he will let me sleep in his bed tonight._

Then she blew out the candles, and Druella merrily plucked them out and used her wand to carve up slices. As she did, Bellatrix just stared at Voldemort. Surely her father was noticing now. Surely people could see that they were just staring across the table like utter fools, that they were completely engrossed by one another.

"Would you like a piece, My Lord?" Druella asked, and he gave her an odd gesture halfway between shaking and nodding his head. He took the piece and then started eating it. Bellatrix felt sick from the cloying sweetness as she forced the cake down, and finally she asked in a rather rude voice,

"When are you going home, Mum and Dad?"

"Oh, in just a few minutes here, I think," Druella said lazily. "We've overstayed, I know. We'll get out of your hair."

"Oh, are you certain you don't want to stay another night?" Abraxas Malfoy asked playfully, and Voldemort shot him a glare that could have murdered someone. Abraxas tried not to laugh and amended, "Oh, as it happens, Cygnus… we've got that meeting at Gringotts tomorrow morning and I've got some other errands to run. I'm staying tonight in the Leaky Cauldron so I'm in Diagon Alley bright and early."

"Not a bad plan. I may do the same," Cygnus nodded. He and Druella rose, leaving their cake plates on the table for Dobby to clean up. Abraxas gave a knowing look to Voldemort and Bellatrix and then said,

"My things are already packed and sent ahead. I'll let the family say farewell. Miss Black, a very happy birthday to you."

"Thank you… erm… for the… the…" Bellatrix couldn't think.

"The wrap," Abraxas nodded. "Yes. I'll let Aeta know. Cygnus. Druella. Good seeing you, as always. Actually, I'll show you out."

"Oh." Druella seemed surprised at being shuffled out so quickly, but Voldemort certainly didn't fight Abraxas on it, and neither did Bellatrix. She just nodded and gave her mother a loose, odd sort of embrace as she said,

"Thanks for the ballet things, Mum. Daddy, good seeing you."

"Happy birthday, Bellatrix. So glad you're doing well," Cygnus said. "My Lord. I shall write to you with an update on the finances."

"Right." Voldemort nodded tightly, flicking his eyes back and forth between Cygnus and Bellatrix. She watched his fists open and clench a few times, and then she watched him fold his hands in front of his robes as though he were hiding something. Abraxas shuttled Druella and Cygnus out of the dining room, and Bellatrix waved one more time, and then there was quiet.

Bellatrix just listened to her own breathing for a long moment, to his breathing, and she whispered,

"They're all gone. It's just us now."

"Choose a suite," he murmured. He shut his eyes and told her, "I want you to make a decision. Go to your suite and retire for the night, or go to my suite and wait for me in the sitting room. You know what will happen tonight if you're in my rooms."

She chewed her lip and nodded, starting to walk out of the dining room. She knew damned well where she was going.

"Bella," he said, and she turned back. He opened his eyes, looking at her like he was starving to death, and he said softly, "Happy birthday."

**Author's Note: Yeah! Birthday Night! Birthday Night! Birthday Night! No more waiting! Raise your hand if you're ready for the Birthday Night! Oh, and also let me know what you thought of this chapter. Haha.**


	15. Satisfied

Voldemort's breath quivered in his nostrils and his eyes burned like fire as he opened the door to his suite. He'd wanted this for so long that he could hardly remember the four decades that had come before the wanting. Had he ever not wanted her? What had those forty-one years before wanting her been like? They were a hazy fog now. He walked over the threshold and froze.

She was standing in his sitting room, staring at him with her shimmering dark doe eyes, still in the black silk dress she'd worn to dinner. It was sleeveless and demurely cut, and her hair was half pulled back with a sequined black clip. She wore the brass key he'd given her as a birthday gift, and he thought she'd put on the lipstick she'd asked him to buy in Diagon Alley. He'd wanted to bring her ice cream that day, he recalled. Florean Fortescue's had been closed, or he'd have brought her pistachio ice cream.

"Happy birthday," he said softly, shutting the door behind him. He needed to move slowly, he thought. Somehow, it seemed like entirely the wrong thing to do to toss her onto the bed and rip her knickers off. She looked like a frightened animal just now, and he didn't want to tear into her body like a famished man eating meat. He wanted to relish this, to savour her. He wanted to make her feel things she hadn't felt before - good things. Still, he was nervous. He hadn't been touched in many years. He hadn't put his fingers inside a witch in well over a decade. That hadn't been his priority for a long while. He was very certain that he had never cared for a witch the way he cared for Bellatrix.

And he did care for her. He had slowly and steadily come to realise that over these months of wanting. He did not merely lust after her. He did simply crave her flesh, nor did he only require her service as a warrior. He cared about her. It affected him if she was happy. He liked those rainy days on the pergola, the sunny days out by the creek. She would get bored inside once it got cold, he thought distantly. He would have to come up with some sort of solution for that.

"This is for battle, isn't it?" He heard her say, and he looked up to see her holding the brass key. She spun the compass on the top, and the dial aimed itself squarely at Voldemort. He nodded and said in a numb voice,

"Yes. It's for battle."

She smiled a bit and promised him, "When they fear you enough to attack you, Master, I will fight against them with the rage of a thousand soldiers. And the ones who are lucky enough to escape me will use the words they whispered in the Hogwarts classrooms -  _Cruel. Wicked. Depraved._  And I won't care. Not one bit. Because I'll be too busy fighting for my…  _master…_ "

She stopped then, for Voldemort had quickly approached her and swept her into an embrace. He couldn't help himself, not when she was talking like that. She was seventeen now; he could have her now. She wasn't forbidden anymore. His fingers trembled on her cheeks as he bent to kiss her, his lips careful as they searched hers. She kissed him back, her own mouth seeming more than a little desperate. She started to slither out of her dress, shoving it down over her shoulders and then wriggling it past her hips. Suddenly Voldemort remember walking in on her in her bra and knickers, the horror he'd felt in doing so. He'd felt like an unimaginable cur, seeing her in her undergarments then. But she didn't even have a bra on tonight, owing to the particular cut of the dress, and he found himself cupping her breast with one hand as he kissed her so hard that she squealed.

He stepped back from her and started to undress, hardly able to unclasp his outer robe for how badly his hands were shaking. He finally peeled the black brocade garment away and wrenched his cotton undershirt up and off, and he studied Bellatrix as she carefully stepped out of her black satin knickers. She was naked.

She was naked.

"Bella." He let his mouth fall open in shock, and she hesitated.

"Should I stop?" she asked, but he shook his head vehemently. He kicked his shoes and socks off but left his trousers off, unwilling to let things end in five minutes' time. He approached Bellatrix again and informed her,

"You are, without a doubt, the most beautiful creature currently walking this planet."

She giggled like mad and said, "You're being silly, Master."

"Am I? You've accused me of being silly before." He brushed his knuckles up her skinny arms and whispered, "You're pretty here."

She shivered as he dragged his fingertips down her chest, around her breasts, and as he squeezed the flesh there, thumbing her peaked nipples, he told her,

"You're pretty here, too."

He bent to kiss her, sliding one hand slowly over her flat stomach, and she gasped into his mouth, necessitating a palm to the small of her back, as his fingers worked between the tiny thatch of hair between her legs. He was amazed at how wet she already was, at the way his fingers slid around as though she were covered in melted butter. She was so soft here, smooth and welcoming. He murmured against her lips,

"You're lovely here, too, Bellatrix."

"Mmph." She seemed dizzy, and her hand started coursing up and down his arms. She studied him, his lean but sinewy chest, the greying hair there and on his stomach, and she whispered, "Master, may we please go to the bed?"

"Yes." He reluctantly pulled his hand from her and reminded her, "We have all night, you'll recall. And tomorrow night, and the next, and the next. So if… erm… if things move finish more quickly than expected, then -"

"I'm not expecting anything, Master," Bellatrix insisted, and he nodded. He was not exactly young; he would be turning forty-two in December. But he could feel excitement gurgling up within him, and he was already achingly hard in his trousers. He had no confidence about stamina tonight. He put his hand to Bellatrix's abdomen, and he murmured,

" _Nongravidare Maxima._ "

That one was good for a month, which she would know well from reading her textbook cover to cover. She looked relieved; there was no chance she had any desire to be a seventeen-year-old mother under house arrest. He took her hand in his and led her slowly into his bedroom, which was so dark he could hardly see. He flicked his fingers at the sconces on the wall to light them, bathing the deep emerald space in a glow of warm light.

"You really are so skilled with wandless magic, Master," Bellatrix marveled. He smirked as he helped her up onto the bed. He urged her to lie on her back, carefully arranging the pillows beneath her, and he asked fretfully,

"Do you... need water or anything?"

She smiled a bit and shook her head. "I'm fine. Thank you."

He pushed her thighs apart a little and put his hand back between her legs, bending down to kiss her as he pressed the pads of his fingertips to her clit. She reached for his arms again, and he thought that she must like touching him there. It felt stable, probably. Masculine. Her fingers dug into his biceps, exploring the curve of his muscle. He liked it, too. He liked the feel of her hands gliding up and around his shoulders, down his back, up again and down onto his chest. He kissed her a little harder, and he slowly -  _very_ slowly - began to twist one finger and then another into her. She sighed, and he could tell she'd done this to herself before. She'd pushed her own walls; he wouldn't have to tear at her. She was drenched and swollen, too. Her body wanted this. Her body wanted  _him_.

He sat up and back a little and used his left hand to play with her breast, moving the fingers of both hands in unison. His right thumb pushed in hard and steady strokes against the side of her clit as his fingers pumped and curled inside of her. She became more soaked than ever, flushing and dripping around his hand, and her back arched up as her fingers tightened on his green velvet blanket. Her decorative clip came out of her hair as she dug her head against the pillow, and he tossed it onto the bedside table. Her curls were free then, and he watched as her lips parted and her eyes shut.

"You like this," he observed. It wasn't a question. Her nipples were dark and puckered. Her small, perky breasts were heaving with her desperate breaths. She was working herself into a frenzy, and she choked out,

"Will you take your trousers off, Master?"

"Soon," he nodded quickly, thinking that if he didn't, he'd just come inside them anyway. But he wanted to see her peak first. He squeezed harder at her breast, tweaking her nipple, and Bellatrix cried out. She wasn't hurt. She liked it; he could tell by the way she moaned softly and licked her lip. Her hands went white-knuckled on the blanket and then relaxed. He did it again, flicking her nipple, his right hand deepening its pressure on her clit, and suddenly she lost herself. He could hardly breathe then, because she was coming around his fingers. Her walls were snapping, pinching around him, and he couldn't believe how deeply that affected him. He almost finished right there, without ever actually touching himself. His cock ached so insistently that it genuinely hurt. He slid his hand from Bellatrix as she whined, and he watched as her fingernails dragged along the green velvet of his blanket.

"My Lord," she whimpered. "Master…"

He needed to hold her. He needed to kiss her. He lay down beside her and cradled her up against him, encouraging her to wrap her leg around him. She held onto him, bracing her body against his like she was falling, and he kissed her as if she was the air he needed to breathe. He'd never kissed anyone like this. Not ever. He'd never drunk anyone in this deeply. He'd never caressed a woman's backside with gliding, wet fingertips whilst he slid his tongue over the roof of her mouth. He'd never massaged a woman's scalp whilst he suckled her lip. But here he was, and here she was, and the only reason he finally came up for air was because he was literal seconds away from finishing in his trousers.

"I need to take you. Right now." He left no room for debate in the matter, and his hands fumbled terribly as he reached between them. Bellatrix tried to help, but four sets of fingers made the task almost impossible. Finally, Voldemort muttered, "Fucking hell."

He rolled onto his back, yanked at the buttons and sent one flying, and felt his cheeks go hot with embarrassment as he shoved his trousers and underwear down over his hips. He kicked them away, still lying on his back, so dizzy he thought he would faint. He was positively shocked then when Bellatrix made a move to straddle him, and he stammered,

"What… What are you doing?"

She froze, wide-eyed with fear. "Am I not allowed?"

He shook his head. "No, you're allowed. I just wasn't… wouldn't have expected it of you the first time. That's all. You're certainly allowed, if it's what you want."

"Will you help me?" She looked a little frightened, and Voldemort smirked as she settled her knees on either side of his hips. Her breath shook, but she had a brave look on her face as he lined his tip up with her entrance. He said in a low, reassuring voice,

"Your body wants it, Bella. It won't hurt badly. Go slowly."

"All right, Master." She nodded, lacing the fingers of her hands with his for balance, and then she started to sink down. Voldemort hissed loudly, almost in Parseltongue, and he tipped his head back at the warm, enveloping sensation of her body hugging him. Bellatrix made a wordless sound, an exclamation and a plea at once. She squeezed Voldemort's hands so hard that it almost hurt, but he steadied her and nodded slowly, making his eyes find hers. She slid down further, then rose up again, gasping. When she started to move, to find a real rhythm, Voldemort murmured,

"Oh, you good girl. You good, good girl."

"I've never been accused of  _that_ before," she said with a smile, and he asked seriously,

"Does it hurt?"

"No." She shook her head and started to move quite naturally. Well, of course she was moving naturally, he thought. She was a dancer. She started to sway like an ocean wave - up and forward, down and back. Up and forward, down and back. Up and forward, down and back. It became so smooth, so steady that Voldemort was lulled. Warm and soft, squeezing and smooth. He held onto Bellatrix's hands, and he lost himself entirely in her eyes.

She was going to murder Jamie McLaggen, and for good reason. That boy had organised an entire school full of idiots hissing and booing at Bellatrix's beautiful dancing. That boy had spent years spearheading campaigns of mocking rhymes and bullying 'certificates.' That Mudblood girl had more than earned her Cruciatus Curse. And the countless victims Bellatrix would destroy in battle would all earn their punishments, too. She was cruel, and she was wicked, and she was beautiful and wonderful and  _his_. Was she his? He wanted her to be his.

"I want you to be mine," he heard himself whisper. She didn't answer; she had her head tipped back and seemed perilously close to another climax. The sight of her like that drove Voldemort straight over the edge of his own pleasure. Everything was silent for a moment, except for the ringing in his ears. He watched, as though floating somewhere else, as Bellatrix huffed a few breaths, as her chest shone with a little sweat, as she whispered helplessly,

"Oh, Master."

He felt his come filling her, felt his veins sear hot with satisfaction, and in his mind, he heard himself tell her again,  _I want you to be mine, Bellatrix._

He breathed slowly, his heart racing at a thousand miles an hour, as she silently dismounted him, her legs wobbling, and curled up on the bed beside him. They lay in silence for a few moments after he Siphoned and Scoured the sweat and seed from their bodies. Voldemort strongly contemplated wishing her a happy birthday and telling her to go downstairs to her own rooms. Just because she was seventeen now didn't mean they were  _together_ , after all. It wasn't as though he could allow this to become maudlin. They'd just been hungry for months. That was all.

"Stay, will you?" he asked quietly, staring at the ceiling. He clumsily got his body under the blankets, and Bellatrix looked far too emotional beside him, But she steeled her face and whispered,

"Are you certain, Master? I can go. I should go. I should probably go."

"No. Stay." He rolled onto his side, facing away from her, still naked, and shut his eyes, pretending to just go to sleep. He heard the rustle of her getting under the blankets beside him, and he heard her say softly,

"Thank you."

He sighed. "Happy birthday, Bella."

**Author's Note: FINALLY, right? Only took them 40,000 words? Now that's a slow burn. Mwah hahaha. Hope that was satisfactory after so much tension. Don't worry; there's still plenty of seduction to come in the battle training where Voldemort's wandless and Bellatrix is using his wand. But first - these two have to wake up in the same bed. :}**


	16. Pistachio

She was dreaming.

She had to be dreaming. There was no chance this was real. Bellatrix breathed in, absorbing the heady, male scent beside her. She stared up at him, at the man around whom she had curled herself in sleep. Somehow he had let her lace her left leg around his hips. He was lying on his back, and she could feel his rough hair and his limp cock beneath her thigh. Her left hand was resting on his chest, which was rising and falling very slowly in sleep, and his own arm was around her, holding her near.

Surely she was dreaming.

He needed a shave, she noticed. Little hairs, mostly grey, were poking through his face, insistently calling for a razor. His hair, which was usually neatly combed, was messy and fell in tendrils around his forehead. Bellatrix studied his bare chest, the pale, warm skin there, and she breathed in again.

"Mmm." He hummed out in a low voice, and she felt his breath speed up just a little beneath her cheek. She pushed herself up a little, blowing curls from her eyes, and watched as he cracked his eyes open. His lips curled up, very slowly indeed, and his voice was a low, hoarse growl as he told her, "Lie back down. I'm too comfortable to move."

"Oh." She did as he said, putting her head back on his chest and smiling a bit. She started to feel firmness beneath her thigh, and as she breathed in the earthy scent of him again, she couldn't help but feel a flush of damp between her own legs.

"Bella." His voice was still a tired, thirsty growl, but his fingers twined in her curls, and then his hand glided down her back and over her ribcage. The erection beneath her leg grew more insistent, and he asked her carefully, "Are you sore?"

"Erm… no, Master," she fibbed, and he let out a low, rumbling laugh. He rolled them until she was on her back and he was atop her.

"Liar," he whispered, kissing her forehead. If she was honest with herself, Bellatrix did feel a dull ache between her legs, but she wanted him so desperately that she didn't care about the pain. She parted her legs on instinct and pulled them up around his waist, but he kissed her cheekbone and insisted, "No; give it a little time."

"Time?" Bellatrix huffed impatiently, reaching between them and wrapping her hand around his cock. He went harder than ever beneath her touch, and she arched up toward him as she begged, "Please, Master. Please."

"She's tasted sex, and now she's a vixen," Voldemort teased. He dipped his head, urging her face back. They both had sleep on their breath, so he put his mouth to her neck instead of kissing her lips. She gasped when he suckled on her skin there, for it felt so intensely delicious that she clutched at his shoulders and moaned.

"Please," she whispered again, and he murmured against her neck,

"Please what?"

"Please be inside of me now," she huffed. He obliged then, pushing into her in one thrust that probably went far more fluidly than he'd anticipated. She was, after all, completely drenched. She snared her arms tightly around him as he began to pump his hips, and when his teeth grazed her neck, she yelped and mumbled, "Please, please go faster."

"Mmph. Bella." He growled a little against her neck, his breath hot and quick, and he dug his hips into her in urgent motions. She felt stuffed by him in a way that was still so foreign. He was invading her with every thrust, and it did ache. It did hurt, but she liked the pain. The stinging around her entrance was sweet, and the thud of his cock hitting her cervix felt good for some reason. She tipped her hips up a little, hooking her ankles together behind his back, and suddenly the angle was just right.

"Oh; I'm going to come," she whispered frantically, and Voldemort pulled up and back off her neck to stare down at her. His lips were full and wet from kissing her, and he looked amazed as she panted, as her fingers swept up and down her arms. He held her hips, massaging her there, and he told her,

"You are the most beautiful witch I've ever seen. Did you know that?"

"No, Master." She shook her head, and he insisted,

"Well, it's true."

She couldn't answer. She was drowning suddenly, staring up at him, her ears hot, her vision speckled. He shoved his hips so quickly that her clit was in almost dire pain from overstimulation, but she came harder than she'd ever come from touching herself. She cried out, knowing her voice was giving away that she was in a blend of pain and pleasure right now. Her hands squeezed hard at Voldemort's forearms, desperate for leverage, and her legs wrenched at his torso. He gasped, squeezed his eyes shut, and bucked his hips wildly as she clenched around him. As her own high dissipated, his head tipped back and his hips stilled, and suddenly Bellatrix felt his cock twitching inside of her. She relaxed against the sheets, letting her legs fall from him, aching all over as his come leaked out between them.

Everything was sore then, but she didn't care. She didn't mind how badly it stung her walls when he pulled himself out. He Scoured them both clean, Siphoning up the mess with his wand, and he murmured,

"I've got a shower head in my bath tub if you'd like to bathe before you go."

"I… erm… I'll wash downstairs. Thank you." Bellatrix slowly stood from the bed, feeling like she was waddling awkwardly as she moved out to the sitting room. She pulled on her clothes from the day before and used her wand to Scour her teeth, and she waited on the sofa for Voldemort to come out. When he did, he was in traveling clothes - black waffle-weave robes that moved easily around him. He'd shaved quickly, probably through magic, and he looked like he was put together for the day.

"I have to be at the tail end of that meeting at Gringotts," he said crisply, "to sign a few papers. Dry, droll financial matters. You and I begin our combat training tomorrow. I'll be having lunch with Abraxas in Diagon Alley and doing a little shopping. Is there anything you need?"

Bellatrix gulped, feeling very emotional all of a sudden. She blinked a few times and said quietly,

"I forgot to pack my waterproofed, warm cloak from home. The one I use in autumn and winter when it rains. If you see my father at the meeting, would you mind asking him to send over my old lined rain cloak, please?"

"Oh. Certainly." Voldemort walked toward the suite door, and Bellatrix followed him out into the corridor. He hesitated for a moment, and then he chewed his lip a little and took Bellatrix's face in his hands. The portrait on the wall turned away demurely, and Voldemort said in a low voice, "Bellatrix, I rather wish I could tell you that last night was the culmination of a few months' lust, and nothing more. But I think you know very well that… that…"

He studied her eyes, and Bellatrix thought she knew what he meant. She was going to be his soldier. They liked to sit and talk. They were comfortable around one another. This wasn't a simple matter of pining after flesh. She took hold of the key he'd given her, spun the compass dial, and watched it land squarely on Voldemort. She smiled at him and nodded.

"Someday," she said, "I'll be in a smouldering forest with spells flying all around me, screaming for my master, and I'll use this to find you. I'm very grateful for this. And my other birthday gift. Master."

He nodded and kissed her very carefully, and then he walked away, his robe billowing elegantly around him.

* * *

"So. Was it all you hoped and more, Master?" Abraxas smirked as he sipped his Butterbeer, and Voldemort scowled.

"It is precisely none of your business, Malfoy," Voldemort snapped. Cygnus had gone home after the meeting at Gringotts, thankfully, and the Leaky Cauldron was so loud today that no one was paying them any mind. But Abraxas put his hands up in apology, and they ate their beef and bread in silence for a while. Finally Voldemort set down his fork and asked very frankly,

"Were you ever in love with Aeta?"  
"No, My Lord. I wasn't." Abraxas chewed a bite of bread and shrugged. "We were good friends in school, as you recall, and we knew we were meant to marry one another. But Aeta liked girls, and I liked girls, and what happened physically between us was clinical. We were never in love, and we've never hated one another. I've had little flings with other witches, little affairs and things, but I'm not a man to consult about love, because I can't say as I've ever felt it."

"Hmm. No. Neither have I," Voldemort said very firmly. "Not ever."

"Even now?" Abraxas asked tentatively, and Voldemort decided not to answer for a while. He ate a bite of the beef and complained,

"This is terrible. Dry."

"The Leaky Cauldron isn't exactly a bastion of haute cuisine, sir," Abraxas said. Voldemort huffed out a breath and shrugged.

"Well, fine. Neither of us is qualified to point out love if it smacked us in the face. So how am I meant to even… to know if…"

"I think," Abraxas said very carefully, "that if you even  _suspect…_ "

"No." Voldemort shook his head very firmly and pushed his plate away. "No. She's a child."

Abraxas raised his eyebrows. "Is she?"

"You are being insubordinate." Voldemort narrowed his eyes, and Abraxas folded his hands on the table.

"Forgive me, Master," he murmured, softly enough that no one could hear. He cleared his throat quietly and said, "She lives for you."

"Everyone will, eventually," Voldemort said in a surly voice, and Abraxas raised his pale eyes. Voldemort knew what Abraxas meant. He gulped and took a swig of his Butterbeer.

"I'm going to start training her," he said, looking around and sending out a Legilimency sweep to be sure no one was listening. He'd put up a weak ward around the table just to be sure. "You may see us in the lawn. Dueling. I'll be wandless; she'll be using my wand."

"Oh. Interesting. May I watch from time to time?" Abraxas asked with a little smile, and Voldemort shrugged and nodded.

"I think that when the battles come - and they will come - she will be my best lieutenant," Voldemort nodded. "I gave her that compass because I need to keep her close. I need to keep her…"

"Safe." Abraxas nodded, and Voldemort felt a spike of anxiety go through him. He shook his head and insisted,

"She'll keep herself safe. She's terrifying. Properly and beautifully terrifying."

He stared at the wood grain on the table then, remembering the feel of waking up with her body on his, the sight of her beneath him. He thought of her dancing, swirling with her wand in her hand, performing in a nightgown costume. He remembered finding her asleep on the pergola, reading about dragons with a cup of tea whilst it rained beside her. Suddenly he was gripping the edge of the table, and he heard Abraxas say gently,

"My Lord?"

He looked up, and Abraxas gave him a very knowing nod. Voldemort cleared his throat roughly and said,

"I have a few errands to run. I did most of my shopping, but I've a few things left to get. I'll see you back at the manor."

He tossed a few coins down on the table, more than enough for himself and Abraxas, and he made his way back out onto the street. He went straight for Twillfit and Tattings, and when he went inside, it was relatively busy. He found a flamboyantly dressed young wizard, tall and thin with immaculately styled hair and aubergine velvet robes.

"Hello, sir!" the wizard said in a friendly voice. "Mr Riddle. Good to see you. Always so sharply dressed. How can we help you prepare for autumn, sir?"

"I'm actually here for my ward," Voldemort said. "I'm in need of a new garment for her. A waterproofed cloak for autumn and winter rains."

"Oh. For Miss Black?" It seemed everyone knew about Bellatrix's house arrest, especially after the  _Daily Prophet_  had run a story about it in July. The young wizard - Rudy Shafiq, if Voldemort remembered correctly - grinned and said, "I'm assuming you'll be wanting that cloak in black? I don't think I've ever seen the girl in a bright colour."

"She prefers black, yes," Voldemort said sternly. He was led to a counter, and Rudy tapped his lip as he aimed his wand at a point in the air.

"She's about this high? Let me go grab a few, and you can choose one. Have you a price point?"

"I'd prefer the best quality," Voldemort said, and Rudy smiled and winked. He disappeared into the back room, and Voldemort hoped that Bellatrix wouldn't mind getting a new cloak instead of having her father send the old one. Voldemort wanted, for some reason, to give her things. He had some sort of instinct inside of him telling him to provide things for her, and it wasn't because he was her legal guardian.

"All right. I have these two that would fit her. I have a few more that would need hemming, but you'd have to come back to pick them up," said Rudy. He held up one waterproofed velvet cloak that looked bulky and heavy, and another that looked sleek and shiny on the outside, with elaborate stitching and silver clasps, along with visible warm lining. Voldemort pointed to the second cloak and said,

"That one."

"Wonderful taste, Mr Riddle!" Rudy Shafiq exclaimed. He Banished the first cloak to the back room and Summoned a garment bag as he said, "This one is thirty-two Galleons, if you please."

Voldemort filled out a form that would allow them to debit his account at Gringotts, and as he did, he realised it was actually quite an expensive cloak. He could have just had her father send her old one by owl. But he didn't want to do that; he wanted to give Bellatrix a new cloak. He wanted to give her…

"Thank you, Mr Shafiq," Voldemort said, taking the cloak. He walked quickly out of Twillfit and Tattings, knowing he had one more stop to make. He couldn't come back to Malfoy Manor this time without a carefully preserved scoop of pistachio ice cream from Florean Fortescue's.

**Author's Note: Oh, dear. The poor boy's falling fast. What happens when he starts battle training her and sees her in action? As we reach the halfway point of this story (eek!) I would really love to hear from as many readers as possible - just let me know your thoughts so far! Thank you so much for reading, especially with the breakneck update speed. Love to all.**


	17. Dangerous

"Beautiful day, isn't it?"

Bellatrix smirked at her master as he came walking out of the manor. It was drizzling and chilly, and she shrugged as she told him,

"Turns out the weather doesn't matter so much when you've got appropriate attire, My Lord."

He walked up to her and looked around the muddy gardens.

"Well. If we start 'battle dancing' today in this, we'll completely destroy what's left of the Malfoy rose bushes. I think we'll work inside today."

"Oh. I was looking forward to having an excuse to wear my beautiful new rain cloak," Bellatrix said, and he smiled at her as he reminded her,

"We do live in England. It does rain a lot. We'll be back out here. What I want to do today can be done indoors. Probably best done indoors, honestly, so you can focus. We'll work our way up to you leaping around in trees and whatnot."

Still, he didn't move for a long moment. He just stood there, getting wet, and he told Bellatrix quietly,

"There's something I need to say to you."

"All right," she nodded, and she watched his throat bob. He opened his mouth, seemed to carefully consider speaking some words or another, and then he shut his mouth and shook his head.

"Some other time," he mumbled. "Work to do today. Come."

Then he turned and walked back into the manor, and Bellatrix followed him silently through the house. He was walking toward the stairwell that wound up and up and up, she could see, and by the time they reached the top storey, she was breathless. She knew where they were going - her dance studio. She followed him down the corridor, huffing a little, and when they reached the studio, he cracked open a window for some cool, fresh air with the sound of the rain.

"Right," he said matter-of-factly as Bellatrix peeled off the beautiful rain cloak he'd gifted her, hanging it up on the hook beside the door, "I presume that your practical education on dueling at Hogwarts was limited to bowing at one another and Disarming, maybe a few Jelly Legs and whatnot."

"That sounds about right, Master," Bellatrix said. He pulled out his wand, aimed it at her, and said lazily,

" _Expelliarmus._ "

She gasped a little as her own wand was yanked from the holster at her side and went whizzing into his hand. He set her wand down on the ledge beneath the window and informed her,

"The last thing we need is you accidentally casting some illegal spell and mucking up this whole arrangement. You'll be using my wand today, and I'll be using my hand."

He took a few steps toward her, held out his wand, and cocked up an eyebrow. Bellatrix nervously plucked his wand from him and studied it. It was yew, he'd said before. It was aggressive looking, angry and pointy round the handle. It was pale and thin, like bone. She adjusted her grip on it, for it felt so very different from her own wand in her palm and fingers. A few sparks fluttered out of the end, and Voldemort muttered,

"Careful."

"Sorry." Bellatrix watched him strip off his heavy outer robe, damp from the rain, and toss it over the back of the wooden chair where he usually sat to watch her dance. He rolled up the sleeves of the white shirt he had on beneath, loosening his collar, and she thought then that he was remarkably attractive. He was going to teach her Occlumency in a few months, he'd said. She rather wished she had it now, though he could probably tell even without Legilimency how badly she craved him.

"So," Voldemort said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall and looking so good that Bellatrix wanted to leap onto him, "The first spell that you absolutely must master for real, genuine combat - not that showy nonsense - is a good, solid Shield Charm."

" _Protego,_ " Bellatrix nodded. "We spent a day discussing it in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and our teacher third year demonstrated it a few times, but I've never actually tried it against a spell."

"Well, today you shall," Voldemort nodded. "It's a difficult spell, but we'll see how you do. I'm going to hit you with a few Knockback Jinxes. Some will undoubtedly get through, but you're a dancer, so I'm sure you can, you know… roll. I won't charge them too heavily. I want you to cast your Shield Charm the very instant that you sense me about to jinx you. Don't be too far in advance; your Shield will wear off. But if you see my lips start to say the word  _Flipendo_ , you say…"

" _Protego_ ," Bellatrix nodded. "I shout it. I whip my wand down in a straight line."

"Right." Voldemort smirked a bit and said, "I'll stand here to give you room. I'll count down the first time, just for practise. Ready?"

Bellatrix did not feel ready, but she nodded very firmly and put her right foot in front of her left one. She bent her knees and assumed a fighting stance, bringing her left arm above her head. She narrowed her eyes, and she watched Voldemort stand up straight. He extended his right hand, curling his fingers a little, and he said in an almost gentle voice,

"Three… two… one.  _Flipendo!_ "

" _PROTEGO!"_  Bellatrix shrieked. She was too slow. Her invisible shield went up; she could feel it. But she'd let Voldemort get an entire spell out first. His Knockback Jinx hit her, socking her with blue light. She struggled to stay on her feet, but the magic finally whacked her straight onto her back, making her cough and splutter. She scrambled to her feet as quickly as she could, grabbing at Voldemort's wand, which had fallen from her hand. Voldemort's face was stoic, and he held his hand up again.

" _Flip-"_

" _Protego!"_ Bellatrix exclaimed breathlessly, still only half-standing. This time, her shield was mostly constructed by the time his Knockback Jinx fizzled through. She was shoved roughly backward, sliding on her feet until she slammed into the wall, and she dashed forward, slicing her wand through the air as she watched Voldemort open his mouth again. Before he could speak, she remembered the lesson on Shield Charms, the way to make them stronger, and she shouted, " _PROTEGO DUO!"_

The invisible shield that went up was so strong that it vibrated and throbbed in the dance studio. The blue light of the Knockback Jinx crackled and sputtered on the periphery of the shield, sending little wisps of blue flame and angry jerks of light around the room. When it settled, Voldemort was staring at Bellatrix, wide-eyed, looking like someone had energised him. He aimed his hand at Bellatrix and hissed out,

" _Stupefy!"_

But her powerful Shield Charm was still activated, and the powder blue Stunning Spell ricocheted off and smashed the glass in the window. Voldemort flicked his fingers at the shattered glass and murmured a repairing spell. He jerked his hand toward Bellatrix, who was holding his wand up at him with a shaking hand, whispering,

" _Protego Duo. Protego Duo._ "

He hesitated for a moment, looking like he was afraid to hurt her, but then he cried out,

" _Aculeo!"_

His Stinging Jinx would have meant scorching brands all over Bellatrix skin if it had come through. But her shield was strong, and the white light burst and dissolved when it hit her protective barrier. Voldemort moved out of the way of the light, seemingly to avoid a rebound of the spell. He nodded, sensing Bellatrix's immense fatigue. His wand was shaking so badly in her hand that she was about to drop it. He walked toward her, toward the edge of the shield, and he said quietly,

" _Finite Incantatem._ "

" _Finite Incantatem,_ " she repeated, her head light and woozy. She lowered his wand and held it out to him, and as he took it, he informed her,

"That was far better than I could have expected of you, Miss Black."  
 _Miss Black?_  She looked up at him, confused, but then she realised why he was talking like that. He was a little afraid of her, but not in the way others had been for her whole life. He respected her. She frightened him, but he liked it. His eyes gleamed, and he nodded as he tucked his wand away.

"You," he whispered, "are going to be… perfect."

She curled her lips up a little and told him, "When we were third years, and we were meant to duel, we were given a list of spells we could use. Stupid things, like a Tickling Charm or a Hair Colour Change Charm. Not really anything too offensive. Anyway. No one would duel with me. No one. Jamie McLaggen told them all that I was planning on using a finger-removing jinx and a pimple jinx, so no one would duel me. The teacher made Jamie duel me. Said he was being cruel and silly."

"And did you take off his fingers and give him pimples?" Voldemort smirked. Bellatrix nodded and said,

"I removed his fingers, covered his face in pimples, and then hit him with a Jelly Brain Hex. He was in the hospital wing for a week. I lost Slytherin fifty points. And after that, I started hearing people whisper it as I walked by. A word that they would say over and over for the next few years.  _Dangerous._ "

"Dangerous." Voldemort twirled his wand expertly around his fingers and sighed. "When I saw Minerva McGonagall in Diagon Alley, that's what she said. 'That girl is dangerous.' But none of them really know how dangerous you are, or what that's going to mean. I know. I know what you are, and what you're going to be."

"But you don't hate me for it, Master?" Bellatrix asked, feeling her eyes burn. He shook his head firmly and said,

"No. No, very much on the contrary. I, erm… I feel rather the opposite of…" He trailed off, his cheeks going very red, and he put a hand on Bellatrix's shoulder. He shut his eyes for a moment and then turned toward the window. He got her wand, brought it back to her, and told her, "You did very well today. As my ward, as my soldier in training. You make me proud. Happy. So."

His breath shook oddly then, and he moved swiftly to put on his outer robe. Bellatrix stomach fluttered a bit, and she said, too loudly,

"Thank you again so much for bringing me ice cream yesterday, Master. And for the absolutely beautiful cloak. You could have just had my father send my old one."

"I could have done that," he nodded, "but I didn't. I'll see you at dinner."

Then he walked swiftly from the dance studio, his cheeks still quite red, buckling up his robe as he went.

**Author's Note: Oh, my. So she's very impressive in training, but it's obvious he's itching to tell her something, no? When's he going to snap? Perhaps after a bit of firewhisky? Mwah hahaha. The last few chapters have had 400 views, but just two or three reviews. I don't like begging for reviews, but I do love knowing what readers are thinking (especially as we shift into a new training/emotional segment of the story). So, if you're enjoying this story (or not) and you have a really quick moment, I'd be so grateful for your thoughts. Thanks for reading!**


	18. Aeta

" _And this next song is dedicated to Anne Hutchins, from her loving husband Dashiel. This is a lovely romantic piano piece. Nice choice, Dashiel. Here's to you, Anne._ "

Voldemort sipped from his firewhisky as he stared out the window at the setting sun, listening absently to the Wireless. He was thinking about Bellatrix, as he was wont to do. He'd had a long day of meetings, and he hadn't seen her at all today. He'd met with Yaxley and Rookwood to discuss the progress of placements at the Ministry - things were going well, and he could feel a slow but steady increase in his influence. More importantly, over the last few weeks, his progress in training Bellatrix had led to the point where her Shield Charms were ferocious. He couldn't even penetrate them with a Cruciatus Curse, and he'd tried after she'd snarled at him through sweat and determination to try. The red flare of his torture had come crackling off her powerful defence. His shut his eyes at the memory of that. She was powerful. Her magic was powerful.

They had made her strong, those Gryffindors who had whipped her into a frenzy of rage with their bullying. They hadn't meant to do it, but they had given her the magical sinew, the muscle behind her spells. They had emboldened her; they had made her fearless. They had made her cold and hard. But for him, at night, she was soft. She was funny when they were joking about Narcissa and Lucius, or when she was being snarky about Andromeda probably marrying a Mudblood someday. She was intelligent when they were discussing goblin rebellions and how Voldemort meant to use goblins in the future. She was witty and charming with him. She was warm in bed beside him.

She'd only had sex with him once since the night of her birthday. He'd been determined to pace himself. It had been one night after dinner, when he'd calmly invited her back to his rooms and had let her ride him again. He had let her lie in his bed, murmuring quietly to him as he dragged his fingers around her bare skin, until they both got drowsy and she went back downstairs. He couldn't make a habit of keeping her in his bed overnight. That was a different level entirely.

He was in love with her, he thought. He'd only come to believe that was true in the last few days. He and Abraxas were two souls who had absolutely no idea what love was. Neither of them had ever felt it. They'd discussed that matter ad nauseam over brandy. But Voldemort had also stared at his ceiling, thinking that just because Tom Riddle had been an unloved child and had never had a witch spark his fancy sufficiently did not mean he  _couldn't_  feel love. Was he unworthy of it? Why could others feel it and he could not? Perhaps a love he would feel, especially toward one as vicious and cruel as Bellatrix, would be a twisted sort of love. Perhaps that was so. But did it matter, if it made him happy? If it made her happy?

He sipped at his firewhisky again, feeling it burn his throat, and thought of the man who had written in to request a song for his wife on the Wireless. That was a romantic thing to do, if rather public. Voldemort remembered bringing Bellatrix ice cream and a cloak. Had that been romantic? Was that kind, an act of love? He liked to touch her gently. He liked to see her happy. He disliked the thought of her in pain, or the idea of her feeling any kind of sorrow. He craved her flesh. He needed her presence. He relished her conversation. He liked the feel of her beside him, the scent of her, the sound of her voice when she spoke. He liked the tiny sound her pointe shoes made on the wood when she twirled with her wand in her hand. He liked the look of  _his_  wand in her hand. He liked the black glow of rage in her eyes when they were training. He sipped again.

"My Lord?"

He stood and turned around, and he almost dropped his glass. Abraxas was standing in the doorway of the lounge, and he wasn't alone.

"Aeta," Voldemort acknowledged, and Aeta Malfoy smirked at him.

"Am I not allowed to come to my own home for dinner?" she asked, feigning indignance. "Everyone is so surprised. And here I just want to meet our lovely new house guest."

* * *

"So. Bellatrix. They tell me that you've got quite a temper," Aeta Malfoy said, spooning butternut squash soup into her mouth. Bellatrix looked up in surprise and insisted,

"I'm working on it, Mrs Malfoy."

"Oh, don't you  _Mrs Malfoy_  me, dear," said the witch. "My name is Aeta."

Bellatrix smiled a little. Aeta was beautiful in her own strange way, Voldemort thought. She was tall and rather broad-shouldered, built like the Quidditch athlete she'd once been. She'd played Chaser for Slytherin. Voldemort decided to point that out, feeling it to be a good topic of dinner conversation.

"Aeta played Quidditch with Abraxas and your father, Bella," he said, and Bellatrix grinned.

"Did you? See, I never spoke much with my father, so I don't know much about what he did in school."

"Quidditch, studying, and your mother," Aeta deadpanned, and Abraxas snorted a laugh.

"Aeta!" Voldemort exclaimed, and Bellatrix appeared to be trying not to giggle. Aeta shrugged.

"See, Tom? She likes my jokes."

_Tom._  Aeta Malfoy was probably the only one in this manor who could get away with calling him  _Tom_  and not getting hexed. Aeta dragged her fingers through her wavy, honey blonde hair and adjusted her stylish silver glasses, and she leaned forward a little as she told Bellatrix,

"You got your mother's looks. Your father was rather pimply-faced at your age, I'm afraid."

"Aeta." Voldemort rolled his eyes, and Aeta Malfoy gave him a look lacking in amusement.

"Tom, are you just going to sit here all night saying my name in reproachment like I'm some sort of dog?"

Bellatrix looked like she was caught in the middle of two feuding parents, and Abraxas Malfoy exclaimed,

"Oh, look! The roast's arrived."

"How is Dobby?" Aeta asked. "He was always such a whimpering little thing. I hope you don't let Lucius hit him with shoes anymore."

"I don't pay too close of mind to what Lucius does with the House-Elf, Aeta," Abraxas sighed. "You probably dress yours up."

"Her name is Yonky, and she is  _adorable,_ " Aeta grinned, and Bellatrix laughed. Aeta leaned forward again, like she was telling a secret. "Yonky can't be dressed up, as you very well know. But she likes to wear my makeup, and she learnt how to sing opera. Can you imagine? A House-Elf who sings opera?"  
"Must make for an interesting party piece," Bellatrix noted, and Aeta smirked.

"Oh, yes. She's wondrous at parties. But, then, so's Evelina."

"Who's Evelina?" Abraxas asked carefully, and Aeta looked sceptical.

"Come now. Lucius has surely told you about Evelina? She's my… you know, my new little lovely one. She's been around all summer. Beautiful leggy brunette. You'd adore her. I can share, Abraxas; I'm not selfish."

"Aeta!" Voldemort said again, feeling his cheeks go hot and red, and now Aeta laughed like mad.

"Oh, I'm very sorry, Tom. I've offended your ward's teenaged sensibilities, haven't I?"

"P-Pardon the interruption," said a voice from the door, and Dobby the House-Elf appeared with a scroll on a tray. "Miss Black, a letter has come for you by owl, from the home of Mr Cygnus Black, Miss. It is marked as 'urgent,' Miss."

Voldemort frowned deeply as he watched Bellatrix take the scroll off the tray.

"May I please be excused, Master?" she asked, and Voldemort nodded silently. She rose from her chair and said, "I'll just be in the library, My Lord. Mrs Malfoy - Aeta - it was wonderful to meet you. Thank you again for the Welsh wrap for my birthday. Good evening, Mr Malfoy."

She left then, and once Dobby had shut the door behind them, Voldemort said sternly,

"You needn't make such a blazing spectacle of yourself in front of her, Aeta."

"Are you afraid she'll run away?" Aeta folded her hands. "She can't, can she? But you're afraid of losing her, aren't you?"

"Aeta." It was Abraxas whose voice carried warning now, and Aeta hesitated. She dabbed her napkin at her carefully painted lip, and she sniffed lightly.

"You are rather obvious about it, Tom."

"Am I?" he asked, and Aeta nodded.

"Abraxas has never been in love, but I have," she said. "Several times. And I can read it on your face like ink on parchment."

"Oh." Voldemort felt his stomach sink. Could Bellatrix see it as plainly? He shrugged a little and said,

"Well, it doesn't matter. I haven't got the nerve to tell her, I'm afraid."

"Hmm." Aeta looked at Abraxas for a long moment, and Abraxas drummed his fingers on the table. Aeta finally told Voldemort, "She looks at you like you're a god, like you're some sort of jewel glittering in the sunlight. She worships you."

"They all will," Voldemort snapped, but Aeta shook her head.

"No. Not like that. You're delusional if you think they'll all worship you like she does. She's in love with you."

Voldemort was silent. They finished eating their roast, and after a long time, Aeta Malfoy said,

"I think you should go upstairs and tell her."

"I think you should go back to Wales," Voldemort snapped in response. Aeta smiled demurely and said in a soft voice,

"This is still my house, Tom Riddle, and I think you should go tell that girl that you're in love with her."

Voldemort glared at Aeta, and then he told Abraxas, "I can see why you left her."

"She left me," Abraxas reminded Voldemort, who pushed himself up from his chair and walked purposefully out of the dining room. He was going to tell her. He was going to walk into the library and sweep Bellatrix into his arms and kiss her for all he was worth and tell her that he was in love with her.

Only, as he threw open the library door, ready for some sort of heady romantic encounter, what he found was Bellatrix curled up in an armchair, hugging her black lace skirts, clutching a parchment, sobbing.

"Bella?" He shut the door quietly behind him and asked the first question that came into his head. "Who's died?"

"N-No one, Master." She started to stand, but he sat opposite her and scowled.

"What's wrong?" he demanded. She held out the letter that had come for her, her hands shaking like mad, and Voldemort immediately recognised Cygnus Black's spindly script.

_Dearest Bellatrix,_

_You are a member of the House of Black, descended from the noble Rosier family. You are a Pureblood. And Pureblood witches marry Pureblood wizards. It is what you must do. You have known this your entire life. And now you are of age. I'm sure you know that the day you committed such a serious crime, you irreparably damaged your marriage prospects. Indeed, your mother and I had quite given up hope of you marrying, and your mother spent several nights in tears over the idea of you dying an old maid._

_But all hope is not lost. I have struck a bargain, Bellatrix. I have salvaged your honour as your loving father. Rodolphus Lestrange, as you know, is twenty years old and working at the Ministry of Magic. He was previously betrothed to Helga Crabbe, but the two of them do not at all get along, and the families agreed to call off the engagement. Rodolphus and I have discussed the matter. He is willing to wait until you are reassessed by the Ministry on your nineteenth birthday, at which point he is willing to marry you in spite of your criminal record and your notoriety. I must pay him a sizeable sum upfront, as well as a large dowry at the wedding, in order to secure the arrangement, but I am willing to do this, Bellatrix, to ensure your future._

_Please know that your mother and I will not see your prospects flushed away by one terrible error. You will be a beautiful bride to Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix. I am making very sure of that._

_All my love,_

_Father._

Voldemort felt sick. He crumpled the letter in his hand and raised his eyes to Bellatrix, who was staring numbly out the dark window into the night.

"Well, there's been a terrible misunderstanding," Voldemort said simply. "Your father is not your guardian; I am. He has no authority to be forging marriage contracts."

"And I have no authority regardless," Bellatrix whispered. Voldemort scoffed.

"Sorry; do you  _want_ to marry Rodolphus Lestrange?"

"No, Master," she mumbled, and his heart started to race as he assured her,

"I will take care of this. Your father is merely trying to follow tradition. He thinks he's looking after you; he thinks he's being a good parent. But I will not let him… he can't sell you!" He slammed his fist on the arm of the chair then, jolting Bellatrix, and she nodded firmly.

"I know. He needs to understand that my future belongs to you," she said. "Whether I want to marry Rodolphus or not, I'm not available for marriage, am I, Master? Because I'm going to be a soldier. So the important thing in all of this is that I must be wholly devoted to serving you."

"The important thing in all of this is that I am in love with you!" Voldemort exclaimed, and then the silence in the room rang like a bell. Bellatrix blinked a few times, her eyes red and bleary from crying. Her swollen lips parted, and she finally whispered hoarsely,

"What?"

Voldemort wrenched his eyes shut in frustration. "That… was not how I intended on telling you."

"But you did intend on telling me," Bellatrix said cautiously. Voldemort opened his eyes and looked at the letter from her father. He gulped and stood quickly, and he said,

"I'm going to go draught a response to your father right now. He can't be sending payments to Lestrange and… and… you're not for sale. You're not some book in a shop to be purchased. So. Let me go write that letter. Anyway. Goodnight."

He stormed out of the library, leaving Bellatrix in the chair, shocked and silent.

**Author's Note: Oh, my. Poor Voldemort. He kind of blurted it out there. Well, maybe she'll show up at his rooms to talk it out, huh? Huh? Let me know what you thought of Aeta… her dialogue was fun to write.**


	19. Emesisanguine

It took her until half past one to decide to go up to his rooms. When she did, she went in a short black nightgown and her elaborate lace dressing-gown, her hair pulled into a loose braid. She knocked softly on his door, figuring that if he was asleep and didn't hear her, she would just go away.

But he wasn't asleep, and he did hear her. His door opened and he stood there in a pair of dark grey flannel pyjamas, looking tired. He had a glass of water in his hand, and he held the door open wider and said softly,

"I was wondering if you would come."

She wordlessly followed him into his sitting room, which was gently illuminated by the sconces on the walls. His record player was going, with soft orchestral music playing, and he turned the volume down a little with a turn of his wand. Bellatrix sat slowly on one of his sofas, and he asked her,

"Would you like a drink?"

"Erm… water would be fine. Thank you, Master." She watched him move smoothly to pour her a crystal tumbler of water out of a vase, and he brought it to her, handed it over, and sat opposite her. He sipped his own water, set it down, and sighed.

"Aeta Malfoy is extraordinary," Bellatrix said, and Voldemort smirked a little.

"You and she have a lot in common," he said. "In school, people liked to make fun of sturdy Aeta, who had eyes for the girls. But Aeta responded by being profoundly happy. She's the only one these days who could manage to call me  _Tom_ without earning herself a hex, and I don't quite know how she does it. She does it by being Aeta, I suppose. You're like her in that way. Your power comes in large part from the fact that you are unapologetically yourself."

He sipped his water again, and Bellatrix nodded. She dragged her thumb around the rim of her glass and asked,

"Did you write to my father, Master?"

"I did," he affirmed. "I told him that he was not to plan anything beyond your house arrest, that that time belongs to me, seeing as I made this arrangement so that you could be my soldier. And, anyway, I told him, you are not an object for sale. I told him - and Lestrange, too; I wrote to them both - to put an end to this ridiculous betrothal plan at once. I told them both that there would be consequences for carrying on with these schemes."

He looked very irritated then, and Bellatrix set down her water. Her stomach was fluttering; her heart was racing. She met Voldemort's eyes, waited a moment, and asked,

"Did you mean it?"

He paused. "Yes. I meant it."

"Oh," she whispered. Her eyes seared. She nodded. "Oh."

"Have I offended you?" he asked, but she shook her head.

"It's only… I don't know what that word means," she told him. "Not really. I know very well what hate means but…  _love._ "

He scoffed, and when she looked wounded, he tipped his head. "I'm not laughing at you. It's only that I can relate. I know hate well, too, Bella. And I have spent four decades entirely convinced of my inability to love. But I have a working theory."

"A theory," she repeated, confused, and he nodded.

"I think the love I feel is Dark, like my magic," he said, "in part because the witch I love is Dark. But when one especially darkened soul feels a blackened love, is it not still love in some form? If it brings me satisfaction to love you, does it matter how wicked that love is? Does it matter whether either of us fit the gossamer, candied ideas of love society sees? Must love be pink and sweet and cloying?"

"No." Bellatrix felt a sudden realisation come over her. She was suddenly jolted by the memory discussing revenge with him - killing Jamie McLaggen - and feeling a rush of excitement at the idea. She could see Voldemort's eyes as she leaped around the forest he'd built, her wand in her hand as she confronted an enemy only she could see. She was eye to eye with him, a shield between them as he threw jinxes at her. They were out on the lawn by the creek, laughing about the idea of burning down Big Ben in London. They were on the pergola in the rain, murmuring about his monthly income from the followers who would one day be on their knees for him. She was under house arrest for casting a Cruciatus Curse, and he was the legal guardian who lied with words of silk at their Ministry meetings. He was the man beside her in his bed, warm and soft and cold and cruel.

"I love you," Bellatrix said quietly. Voldemort stared right at her, and all he said was,

"Are you certain?"

"Yes," Bellatrix replied. His eyes looked a little wet then, and Bellatrix slowly stood. She started walking toward his bedroom, not asking permission. From behind her, she heard him ask,

"What are you…?" His voice trailed off then, for she'd untied the satin binding her dressing gown around her waist, and as she turned back toward him, she stripped it off. His mouth fell open as he stood and approached her. He jerked his head toward the bed and instructed her,

"Up. Up on the bed."

"Yes, Master." She moved as quickly as she could, stripping off her knickers and her nightgown as she went.

* * *

He wanted to train the next morning, so Bellatrix had to go down to her own quarters to dress. That proved difficult; wrenching herself away from him was more than a little painful. He smelled good. He felt good. She'd fallen asleep on her stomach on the mattress beside him, but she'd woken up half atop him again. In the morning, he'd been hard, and they'd spent twenty minutes with the insensitive erection, first with her riding him, then with him atop her when she got tired. She took advantage of his offer of a shower when it was over, for by then she was sweaty and weary.

"Bellatrix," Voldemort had said as she'd put her nightgown and dressing-gown on again, taking hold of her wrist. He'd studied her face and nodded, and he'd said quietly, "I'll see you out on the lawn in a half hour."

"Yes, Master," she'd smiled.

Now she was out there, waiting for him, shivering a little in the late October chill. She had her new cloak on, because it was threatening rain. She paced slowly in a large patch of grass, and then she saw Voldemort approaching out the front doors of the manor. He walked right up to her, held out her wand to her, and said simply,

"Today, Bella, I want you to practise letting down a Shield Charm for a moment to attack me with a spell, then protecting yourself again. So, you'll incant  _Protego_ , then let it down, try and hit me with something, and whilst I'm busy blocking your spell, put up another Shield Charm. Make sense?"

"Yes, Master. I understand." Bellatrix took his wand, stepped backward, and nodded firmly. She moved with light, dancing steps, aiming her right arm at him. He held up a leather-gloved hand and started to say,

" _Stupe-"_

" _PROTEGO!"_ Bellatrix cried. Voldemort's Stunning Spell crashed against her Shield Charm, and she quickly let it down and shrieked, " _Pullus! Protego!"_

Her Shield Charm went back up, and Voldemort flicked his hand at her Pullus Jinx, but not before a few white chicken feathers sprung out on his arm. He laughed as he plucked the white feathers out of his sleeve, and he smiled at her.

"That was really quite good," he told her. "Nearly turned me into a damned chicken."

She giggled, and he raised his arm and incanted,

" _Tempestus._ "

His lightning bolts careened against Bellatrix's Shield Charm, and she staggered back against the force of them. They crackled and burned, the heat almost overwhelming. Bellatrix aimed Voldemort's wand at the lightning and cried,

" _Protego Duo!"_

The lightning fizzled into the air, and then Bellatrix released her shield, twirled on a toe and dipped into a plié before leaping into a an  _arabesque._ She was distracting him, she knew. She murmured quietly,

" _Ventus. Protego._ "

A massive gust of wind blew toward Voldemort as Bellatrix put another Shield Charm up, but just before her new spell surround her, she heard him say with a smirk,

" _Emesisanguine._ "

She was sure that his Bloody Vomit Hex would hit her shield in a scarlet scrapple of light, so she whirled herself into a celebratory spin. But then she hit the ground, her hands on the grass, and her stomach convulsed. She pushed Voldemort's wand away as she vomited, curdles of blood ripping themselves from her stomach and gushing up onto the lawn. She whimpered at the awful sight, but it happened again and again, horrid streams of chunky blood rushing up in painful, cramping bursts.

"Bellatrix!" Voldemort rushed over, destroying her shield with powerful wandless magic and then picking his wand up off the grass. He aimed it at Bellatrix and said in a shaking voice,

" _Finite Incantatem._ "

It was no use; this was the sort of hex that had to wear off on its own. Bellatrix moaned softly in agony as more blood came up, spilling all over the grass.

"You little fool; you aren't ready to be dancing whilst you're fighting!" he scolded her. "You're barely able to keep my spells away with a Shield Charm. You're still learning. You can't be… spinning around whilst you… Bellatrix. Look at me."

She did, but then she let out a miserable noise and retched. More blood came up, gurgling in her throat and then exploding violently. There were puddles of angry scarlet blood all over the grass, and Voldemort lamented,

"Of all the damned spells I could have chosen… damn it all. Bellatrix. I'm sorry. It'll take another twenty minutes or so. I'm sorry, all right? You mustn't be dancing. Not yet."

He spent the next twenty minutes yelling at both of them. It was her fault for dancing, twirling and leaping instead of focusing on getting her Shield Charm up faster. It was his fault for choosing such an insidious hex that might actually hit her. In any case, Bellatrix vomited and vomited until she felt like she was dying. She finally collapsed onto her side, and at some point, Voldemort Siphoned up the enormous mess and cleaned up her cloak and face and hands. He Conjured a wooden mug and filled it with water, but she felt too sick to drink. It began to rain a little, which felt good, for she felt like she was burning up with fever.

"I'm tired," she finally mumbled, feeling blades of dead grass against her lips. Voldemort rubbed between her shoulder blades and told her,

"I'm going to take you to your rooms, and you can rest all day. This was a mistake on both our parts."

"I'm sorry, Master. I won't fail you like this again," Bellatrix whispered. He was quiet for a long moment, and she asked him, "Will you read to me inside? Just for a little while?"

"If that's what you want," he said, and then he scooped her up in his arms and headed for the manor.

**Author's Note: Oh, dear. Lots going on here. She loves him back. But it turns out she's not quite ready for battle dancing yet. Thank you so very much for all the recent feedback on the story. It's appreciated more than you know.**


	20. Acid

 

 

 

 

 

 

" _Every once in a while, the Clastrow family would hear a loud clang from overhead. Mr Clastrow was relatively convinced that it was a faulty pipe, for they had purchased their house from an old Muggle widower who was going to live in a home for old people."_

Voldemort looked up over his storybook, studying Bellatrix where she lay on her bed. She was staring up at the ceiling, looking pale and glassy-eyed. He had dosed her with Draught of Peace, for she had been in significant pain after a solid half hour of vomiting up blood. She'd retched some more when he'd brought her back up her room, though he'd managed to get her changed into a plain white nightgown. Her stomach was still cramping, she'd said, and she was tired and dehydrated. But she was peaceful now, lying with her hands folded over her stomach and her curls all around her. She rolled her face toward Voldemort and said through dry lips,

"Please, My Lord, will you continue?"

"Here. You need more water. You lost a lot of blood." He held up a ceramic mug of water for her and encouraged her to sip. He set the mug down, cleared his throat, and listened to the way the rain had picked up outside. He continued,

" _One day, Mrs Clastrow had had quite enough of the clanging. She sent the family's eldest son, Jeremiah, upstairs into the attic to find out what the source of the racket was. Imagine Jeremiah's surprise when he found a drooling, dim-witted ghoul with buck teeth and yellow eyes! The ghoul, as it happened, was relatively harmless. He merely despised the quiet. So Jeremiah brought a Wireless up into the attic, and the ghoul was permitted to play music whenever he felt the house grew too peaceful.'_

He stopped then, quietly shutting the book, for Bellatrix had shut her eyes and appeared to have drifted off to set the book aside on the bedside table and pulled off his reading glasses, which he'd been forced to wear by the dim light in the room and his nearly forty-two-year-old eyes. Let Bellatrix think him old. He didn't care now, not that they'd both managed to confess whatever twisted form of love they felt. He petted her hair, and she blinked her eyes open and murmured,

"Sorry, Master."

"No. You've had potion." He sighed and told her, "You're going to get injured. It's part of becoming powerful in combat. Still, we both made errors. You got careless, dancing when you weren't nearly ready to incorporate that into your combat. And I chose a hex that would ruin you for the rest of the day if it hit you. We'll both do better next time, eh?"

"Yes, Master." She smiled weakly at him, reaching for his hand and kissing his knuckles. She whispered, "I'm sorry for dancing."

He smirked. "It'll be wondrous. When you're ready."

She rolled back onto her back and huffed a little. "When will we begin Occlumency? I want to be able to hide things from the Ministry?"

Voldemort frowned. "What sort of things?"

She hesitated. "Loving you. Training. Thinking about killing Jamie McLaggen."

Voldemort licked his bottom lip and nodded. "You think about that a lot. Killing him."

"It seems more real these days," she said softly. "It seems like something I might really do."

"You will," Voldemort promised. "If I have to kidnap him over a summer holiday one term, or capture him after he graduates, and bring him to you, I will. You'll kill him."

She looked serene then. She smiled up at the ceiling, and she seemed to be envisioning something wonderful. But then she said,

"I want to tell you what he did to me, Master."

"You have told me," he reminded her, but she shook her head and turned her eyes to him.

"It was in March," she said. "Seven months ago. Jamie McLaggen and his girlfriend, another Gryffindor girl called Harriet Narcks, were walking through the Potions classroom. We were using Kezia bug acid as an ingredient, so we were meant to be wearing dragon hide gloves."

"Yes; that stuff's terribly corrosive." Voldemort had a bad feeling about this story. Bellatrix looked a little sick again, and Voldemort tentatively reached for the bucket. But then the serene look came over Bellatrix's face once more, and she settled. She said, almost as though she were reciting a testimony in a court,

"Jamie whispered to Harriet, ' _Watch this, sweetheart.'_  Then he pretended to trip, and he pretended to spill his Kezia bug acid all over me. Only, it splattered up into my face."

"Oh." Voldemort frowned deeply. He could only imagine the searing pain. He'd gotten one drop of Kezia bug acid on his forearm in seventh-year Potions and had gladly accepted painkilling serum for it. He listened as Bellatrix continued rather angrily,

"He and Harriet laughed and laughed, until they realised that my face was burning. There was smoke coming off my face. So then they stopped laughing and called out for Professor Slughorn, pretending it had been a terrible accident. ' _Jamie tripped and Bellatrix is hurt!'_  Harriet cried. But I wasn't fooled. So I slashed my wand at Jamie, and even through the burning and the pain, I incanted a Severing Charm. Cut him clear across his cheek. And Slughorn took us both to the Infirmary, and then Dumbledore came, and it was determined that I was a liar. Jamie had tripped; it had been an accident. But me cutting him had not been an accident. So I got thirty points from Slytherin and three weeks' detention. They fixed his face up with Dittany and he went back to Gryffindor Tower and Harriet that same day. I needed three days in the hospital wing. Andromeda told me I deserved the punishment, and she and everyone else was angry at me for losing us the points."

"Bellatrix." Voldemort shook his head, unsure of what to say. They had created the monster in her soul. Perhaps they hadn't realised what they'd been doing - her father, trying to sell her. Her sister, mocking and sneering at her. The Gryffindors, bullying her into oblivion. But then they'd all been shocked and horrified when she'd lost her temper in a corridor and cast a single Cruciatus Curse. They'd all been utterly aghast, offended and dismayed. But they taken the clay of who she was and started to mold it. Voldemort was helping to finish the job, to be certain. He was the potter that would craft her into a soldier. But they had taken a little girl and defeated any hope whatsoever of her being  _good_.

"You will destroy every fibre of him," Voldemort informed her, and Bellatrix's eyes watered. "There may of been others, but he seems to have been the worst. You will shatter his soul with torture, Bellatrix. You will snap him inside; you will ruin his body. You will maim every shred of him, and then he will die. It will happen, Bellatrix. I will see to it. I promise you."

He was squeezing her hand now, and she smiled as she nodded and whispered desperately,

"I am going to be sick."

He reached quickly for the bucket and held it for her as she retched again, sending curdled blood gushing from between her lips. Voldemort was hardly disgusted; he'd seen much, much worse in his lifetime. He pushed her curls back from her shoulders and shushed her as she was sick again, more violently this time, and he listened to the rain as it poured outside the window.

* * *

"Will it ever stop raining?"

"The  _Prophet_  says these floods are the worst in twenty years," Voldemort said as he and Abraxas Malfoy sat at the bar counter of the White Wyvern. Malfoy nodded.

"I believe it. I haven't seen anything like this. Can't remember the last sunny day. Well. We'll have to re-do the gardens in the spring. Again. Oh. Hullo. Two tumblers of Blishens." He was talking to the barkeep, who was their target today. The wizened old man, a bent, white-haired wizard called Natheal, used his shaking hands to silently pour out three fingers of firewhisky for each of them. Voldemort wordlessly pulled out a small velvet pouch containing fifty Galleons, and when Natheal pushed the tumblers of Blishens toward Abraxas and Voldemort, he pushed the money back.

"It ain't quite as nice as that," Natheal growled in a voice long affected by the pipe on which he puffed. Voldemort gave him a knowing smile and leaned forward a bit.

"Natheal," he said, "we've known one another since my days at Borgin and Burkes. You've always been a  _very_  good listener."

"Yeah. I'm a right good listener." Natheal pulled the velvet pouch off the counter and tucked it into his robes. He puffed on his pipe and narrowed his eyes, looking at Malfoy, then back at Voldemort. "Owls with reports are to be sent to Malfoy Manor? That's where you are these days, eh?  _Lord Voldemort?_ "

Voldemort's smiled grew a little. "See? A very good listener. That amount will be delivered discreetly to you, either by me or by a friend, on a monthly basis so long as useful information is coming in."

"Not a problem. Anything besides the firewhisky?" Natheal asked. "We've got fresh oysters in."

"No. Just the words and the whisky from you. Good man." Voldemort swigged down his drink, squeezing his eyes shut against the burn. He set his glass down and watched as Abraxas sipped his more carefully. Abraxas smiled a bit at Natheal and said,

"Good day, Natheal."

Voldemort and Abraxas walked out of the White Wyvern and put on their waterproofed cloaks, walking through the narrow, rain-soaked streets of Knockturn Alley. Abraxas needed a new wand holster, he'd said, so they were headed into Velma's Variety Shoppe, a narrow place operated by a corpulent witch with a sour attitude. They knew better than to talk much once they were inside, so out in the alley, Abraxas said to Voldemort in a low voice,

"I knew Natheal would make a good spy."

"So long as he's only spying for us," Voldemort said cautiously. "I'll have to look into his head every now and then, and we'll have to tell our people to watch what they say in there."

"Understood, Master," Abraxas nodded. "I meant to ask you, sir… about the Christmas ball I hold every year."

"Oh. Yes. Hmm." Voldemort paused, standing under a shop's overhang. It was rainy enough that the street was empty, so he jammed his hands into his pockets and frowned. It was the second of November now. Abraxas usually held his Christmas ball in the first week of December to really kick off the Christmas season. Voldemort cleared his throat and admitted,

"I'd have to write to Bellatrix's probation officer. To Isadora Stevens. I'm not sure what the Ministry's position is on having a large event at the place of her house arrest. I can't go crossing them; I can't muck this up and land her in Azkaban."

"I understand, Master," Abraxas nodded. "I can cancel it."

"No." Voldemort shook his head wildly. "No. Your ball is always the centre of the Pureblood community's festivities. It would throw things off, and not in a good way. Aeta won't come, I take it."

"She's not fond of the  _Pureblood community_  these days," Abraxas reminded him. Voldemort could hardly blame her. They weren't fond of her, what with her cottage in windswept Wales and her leggy brunette witches that she kept like pets. Voldemort pinched his lips and told Abraxas,

"You can't have some slew of girls on your arm. If I pitch this to the Ministry, it needs to be a sterile party. Family-friendly. Children present. All that."

"Yes. I understand, Master," Abraxas nodded. "I'll invite members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight for hors d'oeuvres, drinks, desserts, and dancing. The lighting of the tree. Christmas merriment. Nothing else."

Voldemort sighed and then asked, "Rodolphus Lestrange… will he be invited? I suppose he will."

"Well, has he offended you in some way, My Lord?" Abraxas asked, and Voldemort knew the last thing he needed was to start a war of emotions over a hypothetical marriage contract. He squared his jaw and shook his head, telling Abraxas,

"I'll write to Isadora Stevens and see under what terms she'll let the ball take place. I think it should, for cohesiveness among Purebloods. Go buy your holster."

He started to walk away, Disapparating mid-step, knowing that Bellatrix was back at the manor spending hours working through old pieces from  _Starlina._

**Author's Note: So, while Bellatrix's past of being bullied and feared and hated isn't an** _**excuse** _ **for how Dark she is, it certainly does help explain how and why she embraced that Darkness, no? I can't wait for Voldemort to help her start planning her revenge on stupid Jamie! And now we have a Christmas ball coming up! One that may have some odd Ministry restrictions on it! And Rodolphus will be there! Uh oh!**


	21. Obvious

Bellatrix fretted over her hair. Did she look like an idiot? She'd never been allowed to Mr Malfoy's famous Christmas party before; it had always been a strictly adults-only affair. But Voldemort had arranged with the Ministry to ensure that it would be a bit more family-friendly this year, so both Andromeda and Narcissa would be in attendance, along with Bellatrix's parents. Bellatrix wanted to look beautiful. She didn't want to look like some infamous criminal. Everyone would be ogling her, she knew.  _That's the girl who's holed up here under house arrest for committing an Unforgivable._  Voldemort would have to be Tom Riddle tonight, for there would be many Purebloods well outside the circle of Death Eaters present. He would be Tom Riddle, her legal guardian, and she would be Bellatrix Black, his notorious ward. So she at least wanted to look pretty. After all, if she was going to be a well-known torturess, she could at least be a decently-dressed torturess.

Now she Levitated a hand-held mirror behind her and studied the reflection of the two thick braids she'd twined with one another. She'd used silver ribbon in one braid and shimmering green ribbon in the other. They could expel her, but she'd always be a Slytherin. Her gown was high-necked black lace, long-sleeved - cut modestly on purpose. But it hugged her form and flared out into a skirt that moved well, with tulle underskirts to give it a fluid sense of motion when she walked or turned. Her brass key from Voldemort was around her neck on a daily basis, but was objectively too informal for this event, so instead she wore an heirloom piece, an oval emerald on a silver chain that had been her great-grandmother's. She wore simple, peach-toned makeup except for her heavily-lined eyes.

"Bellatrix?"

She jolted a little at the sound of his voice, almost losing her grip on the spell keeping her mirror aloft. She snatched it out of the air and set the mirror down in the basket beside her sink.

"In the bathroom, Master!" she called, and he hesitantly called back,

"Are you decent?"

She laughed. Did he honestly care about that these days? She'd awakened this morning in her own bed, completely naked, having been taken from behind for the first time the night before. That had been nice, being penetrated that deeply. Bellatrix had not known what it could feel like to have a man that far inside of her. She shuddered at the memory, eyeing the bed, wanting it again. She could still feel his hands tightly gripping her hips. She could still feel his fingers drifting around her backside, then up her spine, as he pumped his -

"Well. You look lovely."

She snapped her face up to him and smiled weakly. This last month had consisted of intense training. She'd gotten very good at whipping up a Shield Charm, taking it down and throwing a strong hex, and protecting herself again. They'd discussed everything from the history of mountain trolls and the future of trolls in Voldemort's movement to the theory of Occlumency. Bellatrix's days were often spent with mornings in her dance studio, afternoons dueling, evenings in the library at study, and nighttimes talking or kissing or more. She was busy. She did not feel at all idle. She knew he was busy, too. He had meetings all the time; he had money and influence to gain day by day in addition to training her. But they both seemed happy. Things felt content, at least for the most part.

"Good thing you've got long sleeves on," Voldemort noted. "I reckon you could probably still see shadows of the welts from the Stinging Hex you took yesterday."

"Oh. Yes, probably." Bellatrix shrugged. "Part of the deal, I suppose."

Voldemort held out his hand, and she was a little confused until he said, "I can Disarm you, or you can hand it to me. Remember the rules. Your wand is mine until the party's over."

"Oh… of course, Master." Bellatrix took her wand from the ledge above the sink and watched Voldemort tuck it into his attractive tuxedo robes. Isadora Stevens had agreed to the party on many conditions, not the least of which was that Bellatrix not have access to her wand during the party. Other rules included no drinking alcohol by either Voldemort or Bellatrix, the party needed to dissipate promptly at midnight, Voldemort needed to provide a written report of Bellatrix's behaviour at the party (likely to be corroborated by a Ministry spy at the party), and she must be polite and follow all conditions of her house arrest during the event. There was one other rule that would look rather strange to the other guests.

"You must stay  _very_  near me," Voldemort reminded her. "If you need to use the bathroom, I'll have to come with you and stand outside. If you want a slice of Christmas cake, we'll walk over together to get it. I can't let you out of my sight. I guarantee that Mrs Stevens has arranged for someone at this party to be watching you, and if either of us breaks their rules, it's all over. This party has to happen for Pureblood political reasons, but we have to follow Ministry rules. Rock and a hard place. You act like you're glued to my side. Understood?"

"Yes, Master." Bellatrix sighed and asked hesitantly, "Shall I hold your hand?"

He scowled and scoffed awkwardly. "Well, no. That would… that would give entirely the wrong impression."

"Oh." Bellatrix felt her cheeks go hot, and Voldemort reminded her firmly,

"You're my  _ward_ , Bellatrix. Not my… you know."

"Of course, Master." She bowed her head, feeling embarrassed. She shut her eyes, thinking of this morning, when he'd still had his eyes shut, mostly asleep, and had kissed her forehead and whispered that he loved her.

"You really do look beautiful," he murmured, and when she raised her eyes to him, he smirked and nodded. He reached for her hand, squeezed it, and let it go. "Stay close."

* * *

"Hello, sir." Avery bowed his head as he walked up. The Death Eaters were measuring their words carefully tonight, Bellatrix knew. They couldn't go around saying  _Master_ and  _My Lord_  when the very act of being a Death Eater was still secret. Only a quarter of the people in this room had anything to do with the Death Eaters. The rest were almost certainly hugely sympathetic in some way, but the movement was still growing. Tom Riddle, to most people in this room, was an enigmatic figure deserving of respect, but nothing more. The name  _Lord Voldemort_  was whispered, not blurted.

"Avery." Voldemort nodded, sipping from his cranberry-apple cider punch, a non-alcoholic drink that allowed him to adhere to the Ministry's regulations on alcohol. Avery, of course, had eggnog. "Happy Christmas."

"The tree looks extraordinary this year," Avery marveled. Voldemort eyed the large spruce that Dobby had decorated the night before and that Abraxas had lit ten minutes earlier. It sparkled with enchanted silver and white decorations and perfectly twinkling lights. Silver garland wove around the icy tree, and Bellatrix said softly,

"It looks cold."

Avery laughed a little and said, "Well, hello, there, Miss Black. How have you been doing? Missing out on school. What a shame."

Bellatrix scowled. She sipped deeply from her own punch and insisted, "I'm getting a far better education here than I ever got at Hogwarts, Mr Avery."

"Oh? Quite so." Avery seemed very amused, but Voldemort did not. He cleared his throat and asked quietly,

"Bella, are you hungry? I am."

"Yes, sir. I think I am." Bellatrix frowned up at him, and Avery seemed a little confused, but Voldemort nodded crisply and walked away from Avery. Bellatrix trotted after him, hissing at Voldemort,

"Why was he so rude to me?"

"They're all going to be rude to you," Voldemort informed her. He picked up a glass plate and put a few stuffed mushrooms on it. Bellatrix followed suit, and they each took a few puff pastries and then some warm brie with apples and honey. Bellatrix moved with Voldemort over to a wall, where he leaned back against the wallpaper and started to eat. She stood close in front of him, and they started to chat about little nothings. They talked about how Irma Black, Bellatrix's grandmother, smelt of an attic. Voldemort couldn't help laughing at that. They talked about how the viola in the hired string quartet had been out of tune for a while. They finished their food and handed the plates off to Dobby, and then Voldemort leaned down and said softly to Bellatrix,

"Here come your sisters. And Lucius, of course."

"What?" Bellatrix whirled round, feeling Voldemort touch lightly at her elbow to steady her. She took a half step away from him, thinking perhaps she was too close. Narcissa was approaching, wearing a gown of dove grey tulle and silk, her blonde hair piled atop her head elaborately. She was walking arm-in-arm with Lucius, and Bellatrix giggled over her shoulder,

"Sorry, but they are  _thirteen._ "

"It's rather pathetic, but let them have their fun," Voldemort replied smoothly. Then he stood up straight and said formally, "Lucius. The Ladies Black. Hello."

"Good evening, sir. Bella." Lucius bowed a little, and Narcissa kissed Bellatrix's cheek. Andromeda, who had come in hunter green velvet with a black feathered headpiece in her deep auburn hair, did not look amused.

"School's going really well this term, Bella," Andromeda said, putting her hands on her hips. Bellatrix sucked on her teeth.

"Is it?"

"Yes," Andromeda said, tipping her head. "Slytherin's so far ahead in the House Cup. We'll likely win. I overheard McGonagall saying it was because you weren't there to lose us all our points."

"Or perhaps it's because Professor McGonagall is lacking an excuse to take them all away," Voldemort said from behind Bellatrix, and Bellatrix smirked. Andromeda narrowed her eyes at Voldemort and then said to Bellatrix,

"Ted says that the Gryffindors have had to latch onto poor Betsy Bucky in Hufflepuff to make fun of now that you're not there."

"Andy," Narcissa said with some warning, but Bellatrix growled,

"Oh, poor Betsy Bucky. Little Betsy Bucky, round as a plum. Well, she can go ahead and take their mockery; I did it for five years. And what do you care what  _Ted_  thinks, anyway? Isn't he that Mudblood you were hanging around?"

"Don't you use that word," Andromeda spat, and Narcissa started to pull on Andromeda's arm.

"Come on, Andy."

"You deserve to be here," Andromeda said to Bellatrix, who reached for where her wand would normally be in her holster as her heart began to race. She felt Voldemort's hand on her shoulder, then felt his lips beside her ear, and he said softly,

"And that's why I've got your wand. Come on. Let's go."

"Let's go, Andy." Narcissa was pulling her sister away then, and Voldemort said to Lucius,

"Tell Druella to get Andromeda home. She shouldn't be here. Your father wouldn't want his daughters arguing, and Bellatrix can hardly leave. Go, Lucius."

"Yes, sir." Lucius Malfoy hurried off toward Druella Black, and suddenly Bellatrix was being dragged away toward the dessert table. The room was spinning. She felt dizzy with anger. She had a plate of vanilla cake with red and green frosting shoved into her hands, and then Voldemort said to her,

"You very nearly lost your temper."

"Sorry, Master," Bellatrix murmured. He pinched his lips and opened his mouth to speak, but then he groaned in anger as Cygnus Black walked up, accompanied by Rodolphus Lestrange. Bellatrix's stomach sank, and she set the cake down on the empty table beside her and insisted,

"I don't want this."

She didn't make it clear if she meant the cake or the wizards. She didn't want any of it.

"Hello, sir. Bellatrix." Cygnus strode up and said quietly, "I'd like to apologise for Andromeda. She is of a sour disposition. I'm afraid we're not sure what to do with her these days."

"Well, that makes two daughters who are profound disappointments, Daddy," Bellatrix said, and Cygnus shook his head.

"No, Bella," he said warmly. "You are not a disappointment."

He looked around to ensure no one was listening, then glanced to Rodolphus and said quietly,

"My Lord, Rodolphus is very aware of what Bellatrix is training to do."

"This is neither the time nor the place, Cygnus," Voldemort began, warning in his voice, but Cygnus insisted,

"He is willing to follow through with the contract, knowing well that Bellatrix will be a soldier once her house arrest is -"

"I said  _not now_ , Cygnus," Voldemort snapped. Cygnus cleared his throat softly and nodded. Bellatrix studied Rodolphus Lestrange, who gave her a little smile. He was awkward-looking, she thought. He was tall and thin. Gangly. His limbs seemed too long for his body. His face seemed like it belonged to a teenager at least a few years younger than Rodolphus' twenty years, but he had a full-grown, neatly cropped beard. His hair was an ugly shade of brown, and he still had some acne. Bellatrix gulped and recoiled inside at the thought of being in bed with him the way she'd been in bed now with Voldemort. No, she thought. She could not marry him.

"Perhaps if you and I could speak privately about the matter, Master," Cygnus whispered, and Bellatrix wondered why her father wouldn't give up the contract. Then he said, rather anxiously, "Two thousand Galleons have already changed hands."

"Give the money back, Lestrange," Voldemort snapped, and Rodolphus said very calmly,

"Sir, it is only that I actually  _want_ this contract to be honoured. I am aware of what is expected of Miss Black after her house arrest, and I mean to respect it. I also mean to marry her."

"Does no one intend on asking  _me_?" Bellatrix asked shrilly, and Voldemort put his hand on her shoulder again for a moment. She felt her heart speeding up again, felt the urge to hex her father and Rodolphus both. Each of the wizards looked a little concerned, until Cygnus Black had the hideous idea of suggesting,

"Bellatrix, perhaps you and Rodolphus could dance. They've opened up the dance floor. You could get to know one another a little better."

"Oh, no. I'm afraid that is entirely impossible, not least because Bella is to stay within three paces of me all evening. Ministry orders," Voldemort hissed, somehow managing to keep his voice both angry and soft. " _I_ am her guardian, Cygnus. Not you. Although, I would remind you of what I said in my letters to you and Lestrange. Bellatrix is not an object for sale. Lestrange, return the money. Both of you put an end to this nonsense  _now_ , or my wrath on the matter will be felt in full. Bellatrix, would you care to dance?"

"Yes, please." She was breathless suddenly, feeling like he'd rescued her. She let him take her hand, feeling both of their fingers shaking with rage. He led her through the throngs of revelers, all of whom stared at the oddity -  _the girl who tortured a classmate. The teenaged criminal. Bellatrix Black, who's here under house arrest._  She let them stare. Suddenly she didn't mind any of their eyes on her. Suddenly all that mattered was her master, who was taking her out onto the dance floor.

He swept her up into a tight dancing stance, standing closer than most people who weren't publicly attached would dance. He pressed his hand to her back and held her other hand tightly, and his jaw was squared in anger as he studied her eyes. They settled into the easy two-step, a Christmas carol played by the string quartet. Bellatrix stared up at him and murmured,

"I don't want to marry him."

"You're not marrying him," Voldemort said back, quite firmly. Bellatrix nodded. She smirked a bit then and said,

"With all the dancing you've watched me do, and with all the moving we've done together, somehow you and I have never danced."

He let out a bitter sort of laugh and asked, "How have we let that happen?"

"I don't know, Master," she whispered. She needed to kiss him then. She suddenly couldn't care that everyone could see them. The room around them melted away. Andromeda being taken home by Druella, her father trying to sell her to Rodolphus… that was gone. The cold, white Christmas tree and the stuffed mushrooms and the cranberry punch was gone. The slightly out-of-tune viola was gone. All that mattered was the clean, oceanic smell of his tuxedo robes, inches away, and the need to kiss him. She stared up at him, and she whispered,

"I love you," and he nodded back down, looking almost drowsy.

"May I cut in?"

Bellatrix jolted a little, and Voldemort frowned a bit as he and Bellatrix stopped their dancing steps. Abraxas Malfoy was standing there, looking almost frantic, his pale blue eyes glittering as he shook his head at Voldemort. Abraxas knew very well that Voldemort couldn't let Abraxas dance with Bellatrix; he had to stay within a few paces. Ministry orders. But Bellatrix understood.

They had been obvious. If someone had looked over, as Abraxas had done, they would not have seen a ward and her legal guardian, but a man and a woman who thought  _awfully_  fondly of one another. Voldemort nodded and released Bellatrix, stepping back a little, and he murmured,

"Never ate that cake."

"Right," she nodded, and Abraxas said firmly,

"It's just on that table over there."

Then he turned on his heel and strode away, and Voldemort licked his lip as he walked off, leaving Bellatrix to trot quickly in order to stay within three paces of him.

**Author's Note: Oh, dear. They were** _**obvious** _ **. Will there be any fallout of that? Good thing Bellatrix wasn't able to grab her wand and do anything to Andromeda! Or her father! Or Rodolphus! Anyone feel like a post-party lemon? Fair warning - it's going to involve just a bit of rough sex (finally; this Bellatrix seems like she'll like that, no? Mwah hahaha).**


	22. Fools

"Cygnus. Thank you for waiting so long after the party. Once everything dispersed, I could go ahead and send Bellatrix to her suite and meet with you." Voldemort opened his office and showed Cygnus Black III inside, and when he shut the door, he moved to sit at his desk. He stared at Cygnus and folded his hands as the other man sat, and he asked blandly, "What were you thinking, Cygnus?"

Cygnus' mouth fell open, and he seemed shocked that Voldemort had been so blunt. He shook his head a little and said, "Rodolphus and I have agreed on this contract, sir. He is very willing to work with you on Bellatrix's future as a soldier."

"I do not want her married," Voldemort snapped, and Cygnus sighed. He hesitated and then said,

"I believe, sir, that Rodolphus may have spent some of the money."

"The money you paid him in exchange for your daughter," Voldemort snarled, feeling rage boil inside him. "You gave him two thousand Galleons as a deposit for Bellatrix. Is that right?"

Cygnus licked his bottom lip and nodded. "I did, indeed, give him two thousand Galleons, My Lord, when he and I signed papers with one another. It was as a sign of mutual assurance. He gave me a promise that no one else was willing to give me - a promise to marry my notoriously criminal daughter - and in exchange, I gave him two thousand Galleons."

"And he spent part of it," Voldemort said. Cygnus cleared his throat slightly and said,

"He says he used most of it, along with his savings and money he's earned at the Ministry, as a down payment for a house. I didn't mind, My Lord, seeing as how Bellatrix will need a house once she's married to him."

"She is not going to be married to him," Voldemort sneered, and Cygnus blinked a few times. He shrugged and looked somewhere between offended and confused.

"Well, what am I meant to do?" he asked. "I've paid Rodolphus, and he's used the money for a house."

"That is not my concern," Voldemort said flatly. "My concern is that I arranged to keep your daughter from permanently losing her wand, living as a Squib, and possibly being thrown into Azkaban so that I could train her as a soldier. As such, her custody - both before and after her Ministry reassessment at nineteen - is  _my_  concern. Bellatrix is  _mine_ , Cygnus. Do you understand that? Bellatrix is  _mine_."

Cygnus' dark eyes flashed, and though he nodded, he seemed angry. Voldemort squared his jaw and confirmed in a hiss,

"Yes. I touch her. What are you going to do about it? Go and tattle to the Ministry? So they can take her away from here and give her two years in Azkaban instead? Is that really what you want for her?"

"No, Master," Cygnus whispered, and Voldemort said in a voice that left precisely no room for argument,

"If you wind up out two thousand Galleons, Cygnus, that's your problem. Not mine. Any contract you signed with Rodolphus Lestrange is null and void on pain of death. Yes, you heard me correctly. Pain of death. If either you or Lestrange makes any mention of this absurd idea in my presence, I will  _kill_  you. Now, will I ever, in a thousand years of living, hear you make mention of marrying Bellatrix off again?"

Cygnus' face was red as a tomato, but he shook his head, completely terrified, and he whispered again,

"N-No, Master."

"Why don't you work out a nice plan with Abraxas as regards Narcissa?" Voldemort suggested. "I think you'll find no money needs exchanging there; your children are practically ripping each others' robes off at thirteen. As for your middle daughter… well, you'd better figure something out, or she'll wind up running off with a Mudblood. Leave Bellatrix alone. She is mine. Get out of this office."

"Yes, Master." Cygnus rose and walked like a dog with his tail between his legs from the office, shutting the door quietly behind him.

* * *

She was in a plain white nightgown with her hair pulled out of its elaborate party style when she opened the doors of her suite. Voldemort pushed past her into her sitting room, and she looked surprised as she braided her hair and tied a velvet ribbon round the loose sleeping style.

"Master?" she said cautiously. "Do you need a drink or something?"  
"Have you got any Draught of Peace?" he asked tightly. "I'm all out."

"Oh. So am I," she lamented. "I've been using it after injuries in dueling."

"I'll get some more when I go to Diagon Alley in a few days." He paced a little, and he informed her curtly, "I just threatened to kill your father."

Bellatrix was silent for a moment, and then she said, "Well, I'm sure he deserved it."

Voldemort scoffed, clenching and releasing his fists. He shook his head a little and said softly, "I did not mean to be so damned  _obvious_ in front of everyone; I only meant to dance with you. But you looked very pretty. And I have difficulty… hiding…"

_Hiding the fact that I am in love with you_ , he thought. He gulped, and when he found Bellatrix's eyes, she nodded, seeming to understand. He was frustrated, and she seemed to understand that, too. She approached him, and she said very quietly,

"Last night, you put bruises on me. Little fingertip-shaped bruises. They were on my hips this morning."

"Oh. Sorry." He shrugged, thinking distantly that he couldn't concern himself with that right now. But Bellatrix reached for Voldemort's hand and pressed his fingers to her nightgown, to the thin material, to the place where he'd gripped her the night before while drilling into her from behind.

"It hurt a little," she mused, "being pounded like that."

Suddenly Voldemort started to flush hard, and he thought he understood. She was trying to help him purge his frustrations. Well, he wasn't going to complain. He nodded.

"You like pain sometimes, don't you?" He turned toward her, taking her face in his hands. He bent to kiss her lips, very carefully, using one hand to pull her close by the small of her back. His touch was gentle now, his mouth easy and kind, and his whisper was soft as he asked her, "Sometimes you like it when the pain and the pleasure blend together, swirling up inside of you, don't you?"

"Yes, Master," she nodded, her breath warm against him. Her fingers started to unclasp his tuxedo robe, which she pushed off his shoulders. She untied his bow tie and let it flutter to the ground, and he allowed her to unbutton his waistcoat and white dress shirt. He kicked off his dress shoes but left on his black formal trousers, and he kissed her again, even more carefully this time. He murmured against Bellatrix's mouth,

"I want you to come sit with me on the sofa, Bellatrix, and you're going to get a spanking. I think you need to be punished."

"Do I? Have I offended you, Master?" Bellatrix massaged his shoulders, which felt wonderful, and he petted at her hair as he nodded.

"You made me look like a fool," he told her. "You made me show them how I feel about you."

"Oh. I am so very sorry, Master," she whispered. He crushed her mouth with a kiss, a deep and aggressive kiss, and Bellatrix squealed. Voldemort started to pull at her nightgown, ripping it up and over her head, and then he shoved her knickers down over her hips. She wriggled out of them and kicked them aside, and Voldemort dragged her by the wrist over to the hunter green velvet sofa. He sat down on the centre cushion and wrenched Bellatrix down, arranging her over his lap with her knees bent on one side and her elbows bent on the other.

He studied her backside, the little curve of it, and he began by lightly tracing the lower curve of each cheek. Then he began to scratch a little, making Bellatrix moan a bit, and Voldemort muttered,

"If I weren't a fool, Bellatrix, I would let your father sell you to Lestrange. I would let Lestrange do as he promised; I would keep you as a married soldier. After all, my male Death Eaters are mostly wed. But I can't do that. Why can't I do that, Bellatrix?"

"Why, Master?" she whispered, and he slapped at her right arse cheek. She yelped, and he slapped her left cheek. He did it again.  _Right, left. Right, left. Right, left._  He let the skin go pink and warm from the light slapping, and he rubbed at the heating flesh as he whispered,

"I can't do that because I am a fool for you, Bellatrix. And now even your father knows. But at least he also knows that I'll kill him if he crosses me again."

_Thwack!_

"Oh!"

He'd given Bellatrix a good wallop that time, a hard hit to the bottom half of her right cheek, and she moaned. Voldemort was rock solid in his trousers now, and he was starting to feel dizzy. He scratched slowly at the hot skin on Bellatrix's right cheek, then smacked her left side just as hard. He let everything heat up, then spanked again, harder this time. He gave her a third spanking, and now she was sobbing, a blend of a moan and a plea. Voldemort's palm was burning a little, along with his fingertips, which he pressed between Bellatrix's legs. He groaned a bit at the feel of her then.

"Soaking wet," he observed. "Don't you dare come."

"Master," she panted, and he responded by smacking her so hard on the bottom of her arse that she was shoved forward against the sofa. He steadied her shoulder and hit her again, harder this time, then gave her a break to rub her fiery hot skin. He stroked his fingers at her swollen, wet entrance and played with her clit for a moment, and she cried out in desperation.

"Don't come," he warned her, feeling breathless. He was speaking just as much to himself as to her; he was seconds away from finishing in his trousers. But she couldn't obey him. He felt her walls clenching around his fingers, and as his eyes fluttered shut, his voice half-heartedly scolded her, "I told you not to come, Bella."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She was moaning against the velvet of the sofa, her face burrowed into the furniture as her back heaved. Voldemort pulled his fingers from her and stroked at her backside, and then he murmured,

"Get on me. Please. Now."

As she scrambled clumsily off of him, he unbuttoned his fancy tuxedo trousers and shoved them down over his hips, kicking them away along with his socks. He welcomed Bellatrix back onto the sofa, letting her straddle him. As she sank down onto him, he felt the heat of her abused backside on his thighs, and the warm squeeze of her walls, and he gasped. She was still well within the one month contraceptive spell he had marked on his calendar to administer, he knew as he took her face and brought it down to his. He kissed her like she was the air he needed to breathe.

Perhaps she had made a fool of him at the ball, or perhaps he'd made a fool of her. They'd made fools of themselves. And it was of little consequence if Cygnus Black knew that Voldemort was often naked with Bellatrix, who was of age and legally freed of her father's influence. All that mattered was that Cygnus understood what he was  _not_  allowed to do. He was  _not_  allowed to sell Bellatrix into a marriage contract, because Bellatrix was her own witch, and because Bellatrix was going to be a soldier, and because Lord Voldemort was in love with Bellatrix Black.

"I love you," she whispered as she bobbed up and down on him. Voldemort had neither the breath nor the presence of mind to do anything other than nod. He just held her hips, trying not to bruise her up again, and he moved her atop him, and when he came, he kissed her through it. As the blinding white heat faded, and as his come leaked out between them, he whispered,

"I'm sleeping here."

"Again?" she teased him, and he gave her a serious look.

"I'll sleep in the same bed as you every single night if that's what I want," he told her, and her smirk faded. She nodded seriously, kissed his lips, and climbed off his lap, moving gingerly.

"Of course, Master. Whatever pleases you pleases me," she said, and she made a move toward her nightgown.

**Author's Note: Oh, my. He's struggling a bit with all of this. And so's Cygnus! Thought we needed a good fun lemon before we start… Occlumency! Woo hoo! Thank you *so much* for any and all feedback. It's appreciated more than I can say.**


	23. Occlumens

"Good morning, Miss Black," Voldemort said with a little smile as he walked into her dance studio two days later. She gave him a curious look, for he'd told her to come to Occlumency lessons in dance attire, which seemed strange. She sat up from where she'd been stretching on the ground, folding her legs criss-crossed as Voldemort sat in the wooden chair against the wall.

"We have discussed the theory of Occlumency at length," he reminded her, and Bellatrix nodded.

"Yes, Master," she agreed. "We have."

"Last time we talked, I told you that there are two steps to obfuscation," Voldemort said calmly. "What are they?"  
Bellatrix sat up straighter. "The ultimate goal is to confuse the Legilimens," she said. "This is achieved by altering details in a plucked memory just enough to make it seem real whilst hiding those factors that must be concealed, such as guilt of a crime. But this is very advanced. What comes first is simple blockage."

"Blockage," Voldemort nodded. "And how does one… block?"  
"One must overcome emotion, Master," Bellatrix said, putting her hands on her knees where she sat on the floor looking up at him. "One will feel strong emotions when a memory or thought or reaction is pulled out of the mind through Legilimency. These emotions must be overwhelmed by blankness, and that blankness must cover the Legilimens' ability to see the memory. Some use imagery like a mossy rainforest, or an endless corridor with one little light at the end."

"And have you come up with an idea for your blankness?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix nodded.

"Yes, Master," she whispered. "I can see it in my mind. It is a vast, glassy sea with not a breath of wind upon it. The sky is endless, filled with stars upon stars. The water is black, reflecting the sky. You could fall into it and never stop falling."

He turned up half his mouth and nodded. "Good. Today, I will reach into your mind and pull out something that screams at me with emotion. Something that causes you to react strongly in your memories. Your goal today is to shove aside that emotion and replace it with that starry sky and that flat sea, until the memory is invisible in my mind. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master. I understand." Bellatrix felt anxious just the same. She made her posture perfect, as though somehow sitting properly would help her. Voldemort aimed his wand at her and murmured,

" _Legilimens._ "

Suddenly Bellatrix felt a nauseating invasion, a thrust into her mind as though a dull poker were sniffing around. She squirmed, uncomfortable, and then gasped when a memory began playing itself behind her eyeballs.

_Bellatrix flipped the pages of Witch Weekly where she sat alone on the Hogwarts Express. This magazine was absolute drivel, she thought, but her mother had given her a copy to read on the train, and Bellatrix certainly had nothing better to do with her time. She heard the compartment door slide open, and she muttered,_

' _It's occupied.'_

' _Oh, does no one want to sit with Bleak and Bloody Bellatrix? I wonder why!'_

_Bellatrix scowled and set down her magazine as three Gryffindor girls - Harriet, Josephine, and Rhonda - came bursting into the compartment._

' _Go away,' Bellatrix told them, but they sat down as if they owned the place._

' _We're here to keep you company,' Rhonda insisted, 'Seeing as how you somehow managed to make it all the way through first year without making a single friend.'_

' _I don't want friends,' Bellatrix grumbled. 'Get out of my compartment.'_

' _Your compartment?' Harriet giggled. 'Jamie always did say you walked around Hogwarts like you owned the place. Guess that's what happens when a spoiled brat shows up at a school where people have to share. Share with us now, Bellatrix. Share your compartment. Ooh, share your magazine. Witch Weekly. Ooh. Bet they've got some good tips for taming those wacky curls of yours.'_

_Bellatrix's cheeks went hot as she watched the other three girls laugh and read the magazine._

"Bellatrix. Overcome the emotion," Voldemort was saying. Where she sat on the ground, Bellatrix gritted her teeth, trying with all her might to shove away the anger and hatred she felt. She couldn't. She just felt fury. She tried to paint over the memory with the night sky, with the black sea, but it carried on relentlessly.

' _I don't see any articles about turning lion's manes into human hair, but maybe we'll learn that this year in Transfiguration,' Rhonda said to Bellatrix, her voice full of mock reassurance. Bellatrix made a move to snatch her magazine, but Rhonda handed it to Josephine, and Bellatrix snapped,_

' _Go ahead and keep it, Josephine. Goodness knows you need all the advice they can give you on Beautification spells and creams. And powders and gels… and love potions, probably. You'll need a lot of help. Now, if you'll all get the bloody hell out of my -'_

' _Take it. Stuck-up Slytherin bitch.' Josephine tossed the magazine back at Bellatrix and scoffed at her. 'No wonder you haven't got any friends.'_

' _Have a good term, Bleak and Bloody Bellatrix,' taunted Harriet, laughing as she pushed Josephine and Rhonda gently over the threshold and slammed the door shut. Bellatrix watched them giggle as they made their way down the train corridor, likely back toward the other Gryffindors. She stared at the magazine on the seat for a moment, and then the door opened again._

' _Anything from the trolley, dear?' the trolley witch asked, but Bellatrix just shook her head, and the witch moved on._

Bellatrix wrenched her eyes shut and heard a train whistle screaming in her head. She felt a gentle yank, a pull, and then Voldemort sighed. He had withdrawn from her mind, she knew. She had failed. She gulped hard and whispered,

"I'm sorry."

"You feel strong emotions with that memory," he noted, "though, I think many of us feel strong emotions about many memories. I have killed people; I have strong emotions to overcome in those cases."

Bellatrix stared at him in awe, but she nodded a little and pulled her curls over her shoulder. She pawed at them a little and asked softly,

"Do I look like a lion?"  
Voldemort rolled his eyes and insisted, "We are not here to dissect the bullying of twelve-year-old girls. No, you do not look like a lion. Now, if you please. Let us attempt to succeed at this task. What emotions do you feel when I pull that memory?"

"Anger," Bellatrix said immediately. "Hatred. A bitter sort of resentment, and a flare of violent enmity."

"And something else, too," Voldemort said quietly. "That girl was very alone, wasn't she?"

Bellatrix was quiet then. Her loneliness as a child had been offset by the reality that she'd had two sisters. At school, she'd been surrounded by other students. How alone could she really have been, sleeping in a dormitory with four other girls? She shrugged a bit and insisted, as she had on the train in the dream,

"I didn't want friends."

"But you were lonely just the same. You didn't mind unless someone pointed it out to you," Voldemort said. Bellatrix cleared her throat and nodded a little. Voldemort folded his hands on his lap and asked, "Is that why you kept dancing at Hogwarts? You could do it alone in the studio in the dungeons?"

"Everyone else liked to socialise; I would dance," Bellatrix said, smiling just a little. But then her smile disappeared a bit, and she said, "I didn't dance anymore at school after the talent show where they booed me."

"Hmm." Voldemort dragged his teeth over his bottom lip and said, "I had many followers. A gang. But no actual friends. I didn't want friends, either. I was never alone, but I was a little lonely. Still, I can not relate to your experience of being bullied so viciously. I'm afraid I may have been the bully myself."

"But you bullied Mudbloods and Muggles," Bellatrix insisted, and Voldemort smirked as he nodded.

"Yes. Of course it is nothing the same. So. You feel anger, and hate, and a craving for violence, and a sorrowful sort of alienation at that memory. Feel those emotions, just for one instant, just to identify them. Then shove them away, as hard as you can, and give me that night sky and that empty sea. All right?"

"Yes, Master." Bellatrix nodded her head firmly.

" _Legilimens._ "

_Bellatrix flipped the pages of Witch Weekly where she sat alone on the Hogwarts Express. This magazine was absolute drivel, she thought, but her mother had given her a copy to read on the train, and Bellatrix certainly had nothing better to do with her time. She heard the compartment door slide open, and she muttered,_

' _It's occupied.'_

' _Oh, does no one want to sit with Bleak and Bloody Bellatrix? I wonder why!'_

Bellatrix let herself feel everything she had ever felt toward Harriet, Josephine, and Rhonda. She let herself feel it in a flash, like oil caught fire in a pan. She let herself despise them for an instant, her blood boiling with rage, her heart aching with desolate solitude. Then she stomped on those emotions, crushing them, smashing them, throwing them far into the distance. She shut her eyes and put herself into a tiny wooden boat on an empty, still sea. It was so glassy that the night sky was reflected like a mirror. Every star was beamed back up, a perfect reflection. Bellatrix touched the water, and the ripples went on forever and ever.

"Bella."

She opened her eyes and looked up at Voldemort, feeling him withdraw from her mind. He nodded.

"That was good," he said seriously. "That was very well done. Why don't you take a break? Dance a little."

She was confused until she felt the dizzying, heavy sensation in her head. She wordlessly moved her legs back out to stretch, and as she reached for her right leg, she asked,

"Will it always be so mentally tiring, Master?"

"No. You'll get used to it, but at first, you'll feel like this - your mind will be tired and your body energised."

She could see what he meant. She reached for her other leg, and she knew why he'd told her to meet in the dance studio. She felt restless. She went to the Wireless and flicked it on, not minding that it was playing the popular new wizarding quartet called the Gillywater Guys. She began to do warm-ups just to move, practising spins in place. She did  _pique_  turns, traveling across the floor, lifting her bent step up onto a straight leg every time she stepped.

" _And I asked, woo-hoo-hoo, can I cast a spell on you-hoo-hoo?"_

The Gillywater Guys, Bellatrix decided, did not have the most original lyrics. But she didn't care about the music. She lifted her leg into an extended  _arabesque_ and then did traveling turns back across the floor as the band on the radio sang,

" _I was entranced by you-hoo-hoo. Oh, what did you do-hoo-hoo?_ "

"Can we change the music?" Voldemort yelled over the sound of the Gillywater Guys, and Bellatrix laughed.

"Not your style, Master?" She began doing traveling leaps with oversplits, a difficult way of stretching her body, and though Voldemort looked impressed, he insisted,

"I am of the wrong generation for this noise, I'm afraid."

She giggled as he walked over to the Wireless and switched the station to a more traditional instrumental selection. Bellatrix breathlessly moved to the barre and began doing pliés into slow, elegant tendus. She moved her arm out in an elegant arc each time as Voldemort stood before her, his arms folded over his chest. She noted,

"Sometimes I forget that you and I are of an entirely different generation, Master."

"Really?" he asked sceptically. "Do you? Do you forget that sometimes?"

She smiled. "It doesn't feel like you're my father's age. Older than him, actually."

"Enough." He seemed displeased by that talk, and she murmured,

"I'm sorry."

"You did very well for your first practical attempt at Occlumency," he assured her. Then his throat bobbed a little, and he reminded her, "We have a meeting with Isadora Stevens on the eighteenth. I'm sure the party will come up."

"You mean the way that someone - not just Abraxas Malfoy - must have noticed us staring at one another?" Bellatrix asked. "Yes. I've been thinking about that, Master."

She brought one leg up onto the barre and stretched her arm carefully in the opposite direction.

"I've been thinking that you can simply explain it away as an attempt to use meditative techniques to calm my anger. Everyone saw my mother taking Andromeda out. You can explain that whilst my behaviour for the party as a whole was positive, I did argue a bit with my sister, who went home, and after discussing it with my father, you danced with me and tried to calm me."

"Oh. That's not a half bad explanation, actually," Voldemort conceded. Bellatrix smirked at him and insisted.

"I'm not a complete idiot, My Lord."

"No. No, you are not." Voldemort cleared his throat a little and told her, "I have to do some Christmas shopping for my closest associates in Diagon Alley. I was thinking perhaps you might have some shopping for your family that needs to be done."

"Oh. Yes, I suppose I should give them gifts." Bellatrix laughed a little, and Voldemort licked his lip as he tried not to indulge her misanthropy.

"Make me a list," he told her. "I'm going shopping the day after tomorrow. Oh, and if there's anything in particular you'd like…"

"Me?" She shook her head, feeling her cheeks go warm. "I'm fine, Master. Thank you."

"For Christmas, I meant." He looked a little anxious then. Bellatrix pulled herself from the barre and stared up at him. She shook her head, fingering the key around her neck, and she murmured,

"I could never ask you for a gift, Master."

"Fine. I'll have to come up with something all on my own, then." He raised his eyebrows and started to walk from the room, and Bellatrix called after him,

"How am I meant to shop for  _you_ , Master?"

He smirked over his shoulder at her. "Speak with Abraxas. He'll help you. Well done today, Bellatrix."

**Author's Note: Who doesn't love Christmas shopping, whether in a story or in real life? LOL. Obviously, Occlumency here is presented a little differently than in my other fics, but I enjoyed writing this version, too. Once again, we can see that Bellatrix's past has just been absolutely relentless. Thank you as always for reading, and a HUGE thank you to those who have reviewed.**


	24. Gifts

Voldemort stared at the ceiling as he soaked in the feel of Bellatrix on him. He liked waking like this, if he was honest. It seemed to be their natural way of waking, the way their bodies defaulted to twining. They could fall asleep with him spooned behind her, or facing away from one another, determined to deeply sleep. But it never mattered; they would always wake like this, with him on his back and her half atop him. Her thin left leg was always carefully hooked around him, and her left hand was always pressed to his chest. It was like a sort of magnetism, and he liked it.

"Master?" he heard her say, and he rubbed at her arm a little to acknowledge her. He liked the colouring in her bedroom, he thought distantly. The bronze and dark browns were elegant, if more masculine than would be expected for a very young witch's bedroom. And she was so very young. So very, very young. She'd been sixteen years old just a few months earlier. He frowned a little, and he felt her fingers tighten on his chest, and she asked hoarsely, "What are you thinking about, My Lord?"

"I'm thinking about how, when you grow up, I will be a very old man," he told her, flicking his eyes to her. She looked mildly offended, and extremely pretty, and she insisted,

"I am grown up."

He scoffed gently and kissed her forehead. "Thankfully, you're not. Not quite yet. You're cruel, and you're cold, but you're still far too idealist - about me and about what you can accomplish with your magic - to be grown up. And I'm glad for that."

"Oh." Bellatrix kissed his chest and murmured, "I don't think you're old, Master."

"It won't matter." He couldn't tell her about his Horcruxes. They were nowhere near that level of personal attachment. He probably never would be near that level of personal attachment. Perhaps someday, if he felt that one of his Horcruxes was threatened, she might be someone to whom he would entrust the safety of one of the Horcruxes. But he wasn't about to lie here discussing their creation with her. Instead, he just mumbled, "I have plans to live for a very long while, and you have all the time in the world to get old and cynical about serving me, Bellatrix."

She was quiet for a while after that, and he decided to change the topic entirely. He said to her,

"I want you to try the blocking again. Like you did yesterday and the day before. You're doing well; let's keep trying."

It was odd to practise Occlumency naked in bed, he knew, but he felt compelled to train her all the time. He knew she could be something great, something fearsome, with enough rigorous work. His own talent had been naturally sharp; he'd come out of his mother's wretched womb focused and angled. But Bellatrix was like a bomb already detonated that needed to be brought back into its shell to destroy again. She was a heavy sword in need of skilled sharpening, and then she would wreak immeasurable havoc.

" _Legilimens,_ " he whispered. He pried around inside Bellatrix's mind, past glimpses of Andromeda chasing Narcissa up the stairs, past an image of rain outside a window, past a quiet day reading in a childhood bed. He felt a powerful surge of emotion surrounding a memory, and he frowned as he pulled at it. Bellatrix's mind resisted a bit - a strong and impressive reaction - but Voldemort pulled harder. He watched the memory play before him like the silvery Muggle films he and the other orphans had watched on rare trips to cinemas.

_Bellatrix hesitated in the corridor outside the Great Hall. She didn't want to go into this stupid Valentine's Day dance. This had all been Dumbledore's idea; he'd seemed entirely too cheery when he'd announced it a few weeks earlier. And most people had nabbed a date, but of course, no one would go with Bellatrix. Not with the infamous rhyme working its way through the school._

' _Bellatrix Black, murdered her dolls, she'll hex off your cock and she'll empty your balls. Bellatrix Black, lovely, depraved, she'll fuck you and kill you and dig you your grave.'_

_It had just really taken off, that rhyme, and now Bellatrix had just about as much chance of getting a date to the Valentine's dance as Peeves or Moaning Myrtle. There were a few other oddball loner students who were going anyway, but they were going in groups - packs of singleton friends. Bellatrix waited in the corridor, glancing down at her black taffeta dress, thinking that she was an idiot to even contemplate walking into that Great Hall all by herself._

_And, anyway, she didn't want to go. It was hardly as though she wanted to dance - she danced alone; she didn't dance with people. She didn't want to chat with people whilst nibbling snacks and drinking punch. She sighed and turned around, deciding she'd just put on cosy pyjamas and read in the Slytherin girls' dormitory._

' _Oh, look, Jamie. Doesn't she look lovely?'_

_Bellatrix whirled around and glared at Harriet, making a move to pull out her wand. She managed to leave it in its holster, deciding it wasn't worth the punishment she'd incur from Vanishing Harriet's silver-and-gold Grecian gown off her statuesque form._

' _Just leave me alone,' Bellatrix mumbled. 'I'm not even going in.'_

' _Oh. That's a shame. Jamie, why don't you be her date?' Harriet jeered, and Jamie McLaggen laughed and mockingly held his hand out to Bellatrix. Harriet insisted, 'I'll go with Michael O'Flaherty. I think he had trouble nabbing a witch at the last minute. Jamie would just love to dance with you. Wouldn't you, Jamie?'_

' _Of course.' Jamie was sneering. Bellatrix felt trapped. She took a few steps back, hit a wall, and shook her head. Her eyes burned._

' _Don't you know the rhyme?' she snapped. 'I'll hex off your cock and I'll empty your balls. Kill you and dig you your grave and all that.'_

' _My, my. And here I was just trying to be kind.' Jamie tipped his head and pulled his head back. Harriet made a disgusted noise and said,_

' _It's a good thing you're not going into the dance. That ugly excuse for a gown doesn't even fit you. You'd think a rich family could at least afford a decent dress. Of course, you haven't got the tits to fill it out. That's not your fault.'_

' _Well, it's better than a dress that's far too tight,' Bellatrix snarled back. 'Watch what she eats in there, Jamie, or she'll wind up looking like Betsy Bucky.'_

"Bellatrix. Get ahold of those emotions and shove them away," Voldemort insisted, but he could feel that Bellatrix had no control at all over the memory. It was playing like film in his mind, and he could feel her tears on his chest.

' _You bitch,' Harriet snarled. 'Hideous inside and out. No wonder not even boil-faced Hamish Robertson wanted to come with you.'_

_Bellatrix whipped her wand out and aimed it at Harriet, then Jamie, and she hissed at them,_

' _Go now or I'll… I'll…"_

_Jamie laughed a little and shrugged. 'Do it. You'll just lose your House more points. Go on. Do it..'_

_Harriet's face twisted. 'Ugly, stupid, unwanted…'_

' _What is going on out here?' came the Scottish trill of Minerva McGonagall. Jamie and Harriet whirled around, leaving Bellatrix against the wall with her wand aimed at them. McGonagall scowled and said sharply, 'Put that wand away, Miss Black. Ten points from Slytherin for having your wand out in the corridor. You two, get to the dance. In or out, Miss Black. Get where you're going.'_

_Bellatrix shoved her wand away and stomped off, back toward the dungeons._

Voldemort pulled out of Bellatrix's mind, and she sat up, swiping at her eyes a little.

"I tried to put up the empty sea," she said, ignoring the fact that her chest was bared to him. "I tried to show you stars upon stars. But I couldn't. I felt many things, but I couldn't identify them quickly enough to squash them. I'm sorry, Master."

"You must become more skilled at identifying the precise emotions so that you can conquer them," Voldemort nodded. He sighed. "You were feeling anger, of course. Frustration. But there was something else. What was it?"

She shook her head and shrugged. "Sadness?"

"No." Voldemort sat up slowly and tucked her wand behind her ear. "Your dress fit poorly. You didn't have a date. What emotion did that trigger?"

Realisation came over her face then, and she nodded. "Humiliation. Embarrassment."

"Yes." He kissed her forehead and said, "Even then, it was overwhelmed by your instinct for anger. But you must be able to quickly overcome your mind's emotional response and cover it with blankness. We will practise more; I will strategise on my end. This is not a failure. It has revealed where the crack is in the shell of your Occlumency."

Bellatrix sighed very heavily and sounded abashed as she said, "You're going to think I was some sort of victim for all my school years, but I wasn't."

"You didn't allow them to walk all over you, no," Voldemort confirmed, "but they spat on you just the same. And you will have your vengeance. I have Christmas shopping to do. I've got your list."

* * *

It was crowded with Christmas shoppers in Diagon Alley. Madam Primpernelle's was so busy that Maisie was one of three witches working today, and Voldemort realised he was going to be on his own to do Bellatrix's shopping for her mother and sisters. He'd already bought the enchanted pocket watch that Bellatrix wanted for her father, which would show the time in any city with a simple spell and tap of a wand. Now he was stuck in a cosmetics shop, but fortunately there were a few other bewildered-looking wizards in there with him.

Voldemort checked the list Bellatrix had given him.  _Druella - Aidy Allen's Timeless Serum_ , it read, and Voldemort scoffed at the idea of a young witch gifting her mother anti-wrinkle cream. Perhaps witches weren't offended at being given something like that by a daughter, but he could only imagine if a husband were to give such a thing to a wife. As he scanned the shelves under Ageing Products for the serum, he realised that if he'd married as a young man, his wife would now be in her forties and probably buying Aidy Allen's Timeless Serum, too. Instead, he was waking up with a barely-seventeen-year-old witch. What did that make him, he wondered? He frowned as he pulled a bottle of the serum off the shelf and read the list in his hands again.

_Narcissa - Five Piece Long-Last Metallic Nail Varnish Set._  Voldemort scowled. He fetched a little shopping basket, realising he'd need it, and he asked a passing, frazzled working witch for the set. She pointed toward a rack of nail products, and Voldemort sighed. He finally found a cardboard box containing glittery bottles of silver, gold, copper, purple, and green nail varnish. He put it into the basket and then read,  _Andromeda - Melody Mark's Matte Lipstick in Jet_.

That was confusing, because when Voldemort found the product, it appeared to be a sturdy tube of black lipstick. He frowned. Had Andromeda ever worn black lipstick? She didn't seem the type. Was Bellatrix being deliberately snarky in giving something this gothic to Andromeda? Perhaps. He shrugged. He wasn't about to meddle in the snipings of teenaged sisters. He went up to the counter and said nothing as the skinny brunette witch counted up the total and said sharply,

"Eighteen Galleons, please."

Voldemort handed over the money, let her put the products into a canvas bag, and got out of Madam Primpernelle's as quickly as he possibly could. He made his way through the cold, crowded streets of Diagon Alley, noticing that a few people stared at him. People were starting to whisper about him, he knew.  _Tom Riddle… he goes by Lord Voldemort. Pureblood enthusiast_ , people were starting to say. Well, good. Let them talk. Voldemort made his way down into Knockturn Alley, down to Borgin and Burkes, and when he walked inside, it was mercifully empty.

"Tom," said old Mr Borgin from behind the counter. Voldemort was hardly about to correct his former employer. Mr Borgin shuffled over to a spot behind the counter and brought up a lovely wizard's chess set in heavy copper and steel, with a board of jade and ivory. It was more than a little expensive, but Voldemort felt he owed Abraxas back rent for the use of Malfoy Manor. He'd written to Mr Borgin, asking him to set this aside. He was prepared to pay hundreds of Galleons for it - a fine gift for a cultured wizard who had become something of a friend. Abraxas would like it, and Voldemort nodded approvingly.

"Is there anything else I can get for you today, Tom?" Mr Borgin asked. "Something for the girl?"

"How did you know?" Voldemort asked. He drummed his fingers on the counter. "You know me well, Mr Borgin. Ordinary won't do. I need something very special."

Mr Borgin narrowed his eyes. "She is under house arrest for losing her temper, no?"

"Yes," Voldemort admitted. "She cast a Cruciatus Curse on a fellow student."

Mr Borgin nodded. "I think I have just the thing."

He came out from behind the counter and led Voldemort to a small table. He unfurled dusty red velvet from a crystal ball, and Voldemort rolled his eyes.

"Our therapy does not include Divination, Mr Borgin."

"Ah. Therapy. Yes." Mr Borgin held up a bony, shaking finger, and he gestured to the ball. "Put your palms on it, Tom."

Voldemort frowned, but he slowly put his hands on the cold glass surface of the ball. The smoke inside flushed into a deep amber with little glittering gold sparks.

"Ah. Doubt." Mr Borgin smirked. The amber smoke started to brighten into a more golden, sunny yellow, and Mr Borgin smiled more vibrantly. "Curiosity."

"This is no better than a mood ring from Zonko's," Voldemort said, but Mr Borgin corrected him,

"On the contrary, Tom. This crystal ball allows the user to identify the emotion he or she is experiencing - it is sold with a colour guide. Once the emotion is identified, touching the ball helps the user to control the emotion and guide the emotional state elsewhere. This is actually classed as Dark magic, since it interferes so heavily with the psyche."

"It is perfect." Voldemort thought of Bellatrix using it during Occlumency training, and he smiled a little at Mr Borgin. "I'll take it. I'd like one more item for her, though. She has curly hair - lovely, black curly hair. Let's find something to complement that. A piece of beautiful jewelry, just for her hair."

Mr Borgin had a very knowing look then. He nodded and said, "Right this way, Tom."

**Author's Note: Christmas! Christmas! Christmas! Also fluff! Also baaaaad omens for Jamie and Harriet. Okay, can you tell I had way too much fun writing this chapter? I'd love to know your thoughts. Thanks!**


	25. Liar

"You know, every time we go to one of these meetings, you manage to look more and more innocent."

"Are you making fun of me, Master?" Bellatrix asked with a smirk, and he assured her,

"I genuinely am not."

She looked down at her black velvet dress, with its round, girlish neckline and its modest, long sleeves. It had a silk cape off the back, and she wore a simple black beret over her loose curls.

"The Portkey leaves in three minutes," Voldemort told her, and they stared at one another across his office, almost awkwardly. She studied his elegant robes, dark grey brocade, and she informed him,

"You look so very handsome, Master."

"You need to be very careful to call me  _sir_  at most," he reminded her. " _Mr Riddle_  is preferred. Don't slip up."

"Right. Mr Riddle." Bellatrix looked him right in the eye and said firmly, "Mr Riddle. Mr Riddle."

He curled up half his mouth and reminded her, "It's very important that Mrs Stevens not get the impression that you and I woke up in the same bed this morning."

Bellatrix tried not to roll her eyes. They woke up in the same bed more often than not these days. But she understood his concern. It was more than strictly against the rules of her house arrest, even after she came of age, for the legal guardian and the ward to be engaged in any kind of relations. She would have to treat him like a father figure to avoid any sort of implication that there was a physical relationship.

"One minute left. Come on over to the desk," Voldemort said. Bellatrix walked over, and he asked her one last time, "Your wand is clean? No phantom spells?"

"It's clean, Mast… Mr Riddle." She nodded, and after a few moment, she watched the clock with him. He whispered a countdown, and then they touched the cube on his desk. Bellatrix gasped as they were sucked into the black, pinching, whirling sensation of traveling by Portkey. She almost vomited, but Voldemort snatched her arm and helped her stay upright as they landed. She watched when they landed, for his eyes suddenly trained on a pack of wizards standing behind them in the foyer of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Bellatrix recognised them as the men who had laughed at her the first time they'd come here, when she'd landed wrong side up and had shown them all her knickers.

Bellatrix scowled at them, for they were casually sipping at mugs of tea, apparently on some sort of break. Voldemort aimed his hand at them and seemed to cast a nonverbal spell of some kind, and then, very abruptly, one of the wizards said loudly,

"Haines, I've been sleeping with your wife."

"What?" exclaimed one of the other men. The two other wizards backed away, and Haines raised his fist. "What did you say, Burrows?"

"I said that I've been sleeping with your wife for a year!" exclaimed Burrows. Bellatrix snickered where she stood, and as Burrows and Haines erupted into a fistfight with the other two wizards using spells to try and wrench them apart, Voldemort smirked and said to Bellatrix,

"Let's go."

Suddenly she found herself very much in love with him. She'd been ogled and mocked by those wizards, and so he had taken revenge upon them. That was wondrous, Bellatrix thought. She followed him to the check-in desk, where the bored-looking witch took their cube Portkey and sent them down the corridor to Mrs Stevens. She was waiting for them, and when they sat in their chairs opposite her, she gave them a mirthless smile and said in her reedy voice,

"Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, Mrs Stevens," said Bellatrix with a nod. Mrs Stevens held out her hand and said sharply,

"Wand, please."

Bellatrix pulled her wand out of her holster, and Mrs Stevens passed over the customary questionnaire about clothing and sexual health as she put Bellatrix's wand on the measuring device. Bellatrix cleared her throat softly and ticked boxes ensuring the Ministry that she was fed, clothed, and not being forced to scrub floors.

"It looks as though you have been well within the parameters of allowed spellwork," said Mrs Stevens. She pulled Bellatrix's wand off the device, handed it over, took the questionnaire and glanced over it, and then filed it away. Bellatrix tucked her wand away as Mrs Stevens folded her hands on her desk and said,

"I know several people who were in attendance at the Malfoy Christmas party. I was informed that you looked agitated at several points, Miss Black, and that you were dancing quite closely with Mr Riddle and seemed emotional. Can you explain?"

Bellatrix gulped. She didn't look at Voldemort; that didn't seem like the right thing to do. Instead, she licked her lip and said,

"Well, Mrs Stevens, my sister Andromeda and I have never gotten along well."

"No? Why not?" asked Mrs Stevens, and Bellatrix shrugged.

"We've just always had… I dunno. Contrasting personalities, I suppose. And I hadn't seen her in some time until the party. She decided to to deride me a little, to tell me that school was more pleasant without me there to lose Slytherin points."

That was not untrue, and Mrs Stevens' face softened a bit. She nodded, almost sympathetically, as Bellatrix confessed,

"I nearly lost my temper, but Mr Riddle bent down and said quietly in my ear,  _Remember to stay calm, Bellatrix._ "

She was saying that in case someone had mentioned him murmuring to her, holding her near. Mrs Stevens nodded, and Bellatrix continued,

"Mr Riddle recommended that my mother take Andromeda home, since I couldn't leave Malfoy Manor. My father spoke with us, and he was rightfully cross with me for arguing with Andromeda. I was experiencing difficulty calming myself, so Mr Riddle invited me to dance, which we did. During the dance, he quietly spoke with me about utilising techniques we have practiced to recognise sensations of panic and anger and overcome them."

Mrs Stevens looked very interested then. She glanced to Voldemort, then back to Bellatrix, and she asked her,

"What, precisely, are these strategies?"

"Well," Bellatrix said, hearing her own voice as smooth as silk in the air, "Once something begins to trigger a strong emotion, I've been instructed by Mr Riddle to mentally identify that emotion. For example, if I'm feeling anger or frustration, I identify those emotions. Then, in my mind, I crush those emotions, shove them away, and replace them with an unending peace."

"Oh? And what does this peace feel like?" Mrs Stevens asked curiously. Bellatrix smiled a little and said,

"It's like a vast, glassy sea that goes on forever. And the starry sky is reflected in it. So when I was dancing with Mr Riddle, he was trying to get me to leave my anger behind and find that peace. I suppose I must have looked very silly. But I did feel much better, and then I was calm."

"I am very glad to hear that your therapeutic sessions have found practical application in social settings," said Mrs Stevens, and she did indeed look very pleased. Bellatrix finally looked over to Voldemort, who glanced at her for a half second before giving a modest, self-deprecating sort of smile to Mrs Stevens.

"She's doing very well," he told the older witch about Bellatrix. "Miss Black dances ballet regularly, which I feel purges her of pent-up frustration. She shows an ever-increasing control of her emotional state. Her academics are progressing beyond what she would be able to achieve at Hogwarts. Just the other day, we brewed some Draught of Peace as a Potions lesson."

That was true, too; they'd decided to brew a large batch instead of buying endless bottles in Diagon Alley. Bellatrix smiled again, and Mrs Stevens nodded as she jotted down a few things.

"And you feel safe and well in yourself, Miss Black?" she asked. Bellatrix nodded.

"Indeed, Mrs Stevens. You see, I never confronted how bullied I felt at Hogwarts. I take full responsibility for my actions, of course, but… I did not have pleasant years at school. I have been able to find a great deal of contentment working through my own flaws at Malfoy Manor. Oddly enough, I feel a measure of happiness for the first time, even in house arrest."

Mrs Stevens looked almost as though she would cry, which was strange, for the witch had always seemed exceedingly detached. But she nodded and closed her folder, and she said,

"I am most pleased with this progress. This, Mr Riddle, is the ideal of what rehabilitation can be. Miss Black will be ready to re-enter society in a way she would never have been able to be with a simple Azkaban sentence. You are to be commended as her guardian."

"Indeed he is," Bellatrix nodded fervently. "I could never thank Mr Riddle enough. Nor Mr Malfoy for his hospitality. I know well that I am at the mercy of grand-hearted wizards, Mrs Stevens."

Voldemort seemed very impressed then, and Mrs Stevens stood and nodded.

"I wish you both a very happy holiday season and a wondrous New Year. Oh, and that will mean a happy birthday for you, won't it, Mr Riddle? Well. I shall see you both in February."

As Bellatrix and Voldemort walked down the corridor to get their return Portkey, she hissed,

"Your birthday's coming up?"

"New Year's Eve," he grumbled. "I don't celebrate it."

"Oh." She decided not to press that. He smirked down at her, looked around, and whispered,

"You are a terrifying little liar."

Then he walked up to the check-in desk and charmingly asked for their Portkey back to Malfoy Manor, and Bellatrix whispered,

"I've learnt from the best, Master."

**Author's Note: Just a little interlude before… CHRISTMAS! (In March; haha) We have to find out what Abraxas helped Bellatrix get for Voldemort, and what Mr Borgin helped Voldemort get for Bellatrix, and what she'll think of the crystal emotion ball, and whether or not there's any festive hanky panky… oh, and Aeta may show up to share the holiday with Lucius and Abraxas. Mwah hahaha.**


	26. Gratitude

"Mrs Malfoy! I wasn't expecting you in person. Happy Christmas!" Bellatrix dashed across the ballroom, where Lucius was happily opening gifts beneath the enormous silvery tree with Abraxas. Aeta smiled at Bellatrix and shrugged, pushing her stylish glasses up her nose.

"Well. I always let Lucius open his  _boy_  gifts from Abraxas in the morning, and then he gets the good stuff from Mummy." She winked. "I positively raided Honeydukes this year, and, let's be honest… thirteen-year-olds just want to eat, right? I did have to give Lucius ten Galleons to buy Narcissa a present. He's so in love. It's disgusting."

She laughed then, and Bellatrix couldn't help but giggle. She pulled out her wand and Summoned the parcel she'd wrapped in bright white paper where she'd set it on the table, and she handed it to Aeta.

"I hadn't intended on being able to give this to you in person. You inspired me," Bellatrix said. "I learnt the spells with some books in the library; I assume they were yours. Please forgive my inexperience."

Aeta unwrapped the parcel and pulled out the mint green mittens that Bellatrix had knitted using her newfound skills. They weren't perfect, but Aeta squealed with delight as she pulled them on and let the box fall to the ground. Dobby hurried to get the wrapping away, and Aeta exclaimed,

"Lucius! Abraxas! Look what Bellatrix made me! What a lamb you are, you sweet child! Oh. Come here."

She planted a kiss on each of Bellatrix's cheeks, making Bellatrix laugh harder than ever, and Voldemort called from where he sat in an armchair,

"Aeta, stop kissing my ward!"  
"Oh, come off it, Tom!" Aeta teased. "You get her all the time."

Bellatrix smiled over her shoulder at Voldemort, who quirked up his lips and said,

"Yes, well. I'm rather fond of her. And rather possessive of her."

Aeta pulled off the mittens and said quietly to Bellatrix,

"You've got him, Bellatrix. In a way I never thought anyone would have him. I've known Tom Riddle since he was eleven years old, and he's always been able to have any girl he wanted. But he never lingered long, because he couldn't be bothered. But you…" She clucked her tongue and shook her head. "You, Bellatrix, have made that man tumble head over heels in love. And I think he's going to stay there. Abraxas told me what you bought for Tom for Christmas. That's the sort of thing a witch buys for a man with whom she's already very domestic. Has he asked you yet?"

"Asked me?" Bellatrix was confused, and Aeta looked like she thought she'd said too much. She shrugged and waved her hand dismissively.

"You let me know if you get bored here, dear," she said, her tone abruptly more maternal than before. "I'll send you anything you need. Lucius! If you've finished opening, we're off to Wales! Come along, dear! Yes, yes… that's a  _wondrous_  chess set, Abraxas. Let's go, Lucius."

An hour later, Bellatrix had settled into Voldemort's rooms with him, both of them delighting in warm, soft Christmas biscuits with mugs of thick drinking chocolate. The Wizarding Wireless was playing carols softly in the corner.

"Mmph." Bellatrix set her mug down and dragged her thumb over her lip. She shut her eyes and said, "That is so delicious."

"I want to show you your first gift," Voldemort said suddenly, and he rose from his sofa. He moved to the little table beside the sofa and pulled off the purple velvet cover he'd placed on something there. Bellatrix was very curious when she saw a crystal ball there, and she asked,

"Are we going to do Divination, Master?"

"No. Come here." He gestured to her, and he added, "Bring the chocolate."

She frowned, but she brought her mug with her. She walked over to the little table, and Voldemort instructed her,

"Sip some chocolate and concentrate on how it makes you feel.  _Tell_  me how it makes you feel."

She did, imbibing the thick, sweet drink and then murmuring, "Satisfied. Full. Warm."

She opened her eyes as Voldemort took the mug away, and he said,

"Put your palms on the glass."

Bellatrix did, and the smoke inside flushed at once to a very deep, marine blue. Voldemort nodded.

"Contentment," he murmured. "Satisfaction."

Bellatrix looked up at him, then glanced down again when she saw the smoke had gone bright yellow.

"Curiosity," Voldemort said, and suddenly she understood. She nodded, and the smoke went white. Voldemort smiled beside her and whispered, "Clarity. Understanding."

Bellatrix took her hands off the crystal ball and asked, "Is this for Occlumency work? To help me understand my emotions so that I might better conquer them?"

"Yes." Voldemort drummed his fingers on the glass and said, "I want you to memorise the colour coding, and we'll use it when I pull a particularly difficult memory during training. But, of course, this is more a tool than a gift. I did get you an actual gift."

"I think it's a wondrous gift, Master," Bellatrix breathed. She put her palms on the glass again, and the smoke inside swirled into a little storm of sparkling gold mixed with green. Voldemort scoffed gently and interpreted,

"Gratitude."

Bellatrix pulled her hands away and smiled. "Thank you."

"Well. As I said, I have a real gift for you," he said, but she interjected,

"Oh, please, may I give you mine first? I'm very insecure about it."

He laughed but nodded, and Bellatrix hurried to fetch his plaid-wrapped box from the table where their biscuits and chocolate were. They sat on the sofa again, and as he began to unfurl the ribbons and unwrap the paper, she said hurriedly,

"Mr Malfoy helped me choose a particular model from a catalog, and then he was kind enough to take my money and go buy it in Diagon Alley. I hope it isn't too… I don't know; I just…"

"Bella." He cocked up an eyebrow and then pulled out the box, which he opened to reveal the luxury shaving kit that Bellatrix had bought for him. Her heart raced as she watched his reaction. She liked to watch him shave in the mornings. She liked to watch him spread foam over his cheeks and then use a razor to drag it away. It was oddly erotic, supremely masculine, and it was something she liked to watch him do. So she'd bought him a kit made of rubbed bronze, a set with a weighted razor, including replacement blades, along with a shaving dish and special foaming soap, and a silver tip badger brush. She'd spent all she could on it, for her father only gave her a limited allowance per month. Voldemort smiled as he fingered the brush and base, and he said sincerely,

"Thank you, Bellatrix. This is… very kind. Thank you."

"Are you certain, Master?" she asked, and when he raised his eyes, they looked a little wet. He nodded and whispered,

"Yes. Thank you."

She felt relief wash over her then, and she wondered distantly what colour that would be in the glass ball. She watched Voldemort carefully Banish the shaving set to his bathroom, and he murmured,

"Perhaps I'll use it tomorrow morning whilst you lean voyeuristically on the door jamb like you're wont to do."

He was teasing her, but her cheeks went hot, and they both laughed a little. He reached into the chest pocket of his robes then, pulling out a carefully wrapped rectangle. Bellatrix frowned at the beautiful silver wrapping, for it seemed so expertly done. She whispered her thanks as she took it and opened it, and as she pulled the lid off the box, she gasped.

Inside, sitting atop some cotton wool, were six of the most beautiful hairpins Bellatrix had ever seen. They were obviously antiques, blue-green opal surrounded by little diamonds set in silver. She held one up and moved it a little, and the shimmer and sparkle was breathtaking.

"Master," she said, feeling helpless all of a sudden. She looked at him, shaking her head, and she whispered, "I can't…"

"I love you," he said, quite firmly, nodding his head. "You have very beautiful hair."

Bellatrix felt like she was going to cry then. Suddenly she remembered all the times people had made fun of her hair. A lion's mane, the girls had called it on the Hogwarts Express. A rat's nest, her mother had exasperatedly said dozens of times. In desperate need of Sleekeazy's. A kinky disaster. But Voldemort was the one who woke in the morning gently touching her there, who had just gifted her pins to stick into her curls, and so Bellatrix could not help but let a few tears bubble over her eyelids. She hurried to Conjure herself a velvet ribbon, and she rushed to twist her hair up into a dance bun. After she tied the ribbon, she poked the pins in one by one in a circle around the bun, and then Voldemort Conjured her two small mirrors. She turned her back to him, and she held one mirror in front whilst he held one behind. She gasped at how beautiful the pins looked, shimmering there in her hair, diamond and opal and silver against her dark curls. Voldemort Vanished the mirrors, and Bellatrix slowly stood.

He stood with her, and somehow both of their instinct was to move into a dancing stance. No one was here now to judge them for standing too closely, so they stood with their bodies pressed together and swayed to the Christmas music on the Wireless.

"Thank you for the hairpins, Master," Bellatrix said very sincerely, and he nodded.

"Thank you for the shaving set."

"Thank you for the crystal ball," she laughed, and finally he just shrugged and said,

"Happy Christmas, Bellatrix."

She let her head rest against his chest, holding his hand and feeling very comfortable with him. She murmured after a moment,

"What colour is comfortable?"

"A very deep red. Burgundy," he answered, and she knew he must have memorised the colour code like she'd have to do. She smiled a little and asked,

"What colour is impressed?"

He laughed a little and said, "Vibrantly pale blue, like a cloudless summer sky."

Bellatrix shut her eyes and breathed him in, and as they moved, she asked, "What colour is it if I love you so much that the thought of leaving this house arrest makes my bones hurt?"

He was quiet for a moment, but then he said, "I do not intend on separating myself from you when your house arrest ends, Bellatrix."

"Oh." She pulled back from him then, a little amazed, and she stared up at him. He pinched his lips and cleared his throat, still not having released her hand.

"I can't put the Dark Mark on you until after your final Ministry reassessment. I'm sorry. But they might inspect your body, and if they find the Dark Mark tattooed on you, they'll throw you into Azkaban."

"I understand, My Lord," she said, feeling a spike of disappointment. What colour was disappointment? Black, probably.

"That does not mean that I do not intend on making you mine," Voldemort said. "I fully intend on making you a Death Eater, Dark Mark or not. And I… I…"

He seemed to freeze then, as if some sort of shock had taken him over. His face went a little pale, and Bellatrix worriedly squeezed his hand.

"Master?"

His throat bobbed, and he finally said in a very cautious voice,

"Not now, and not next year, but… sometime. Eventually. I should like there to be some sort of… some degree of formality. Between you and I."

He looked like he was going to be sick on the ground, and Bellatrix furrowed her brow, utterly baffled. Formality? Then she remembered what Aeta had said.  _Has he asked you yet?_  Asked her what? This? Formality? Bellatrix's mouth fell open. What exactly was he asking for?

He blinked quickly a few times and said,

"I actually have quite a lot of work to do today."

"It's Christmas," Bellatrix whispered, but he nodded and said,

"I shall be in my office if you need me. Thank you again very kindly for the shaving kit, Bella. I appreciate it very much indeed. Let's head out, shall we?"

Bellatrix followed him, numb with shock and dizzy with confusion, and before she split off from him, she said,

"Thank you for the gifts, My Lord. I shall cherish them always."

"And I you," he nodded, which seemed an oddly incongruous answer to what Bellatrix had said. His cheeks reddened, and he walked briskly away, mumbling, "Happy Christmas, Bellatrix."

**Author's Note: Oh, dear. What color is "Tripping All Over Yourself"? But at least they had a cute, romantic Christmas, no? And we got another little glimpse of Aeta. Sorry for the crazy rapid updates today. Thank you sooooo much to those who have reviewed despite the super fast update speed. Love to all. Up next… Occlumency lessons with the new crystal ball, as well as a spat with Andromeda that very nearly lands Bellatrix a coveted spot in Azkaban. Oh, my.**


	27. Productive

"Keep your eyes on me," Voldemort said sharply. Bellatrix spotted him as she moved across the studio in perfectly elegant traveling spins, his wand aimed at him, her shield up. He flicked his hand at her and murmured, " _Tentaclifors._ "

The Tentacle Head Jinx sprayed off her Shield Charm in vibrant purple sparks. Bellatrix dropped to the ground suddenly, flat on her belly, and she called out,

" _Flipendo! Protego Duo!_ "

"Good," Voldemort nodded, blocking most of her Knockback Jinx but still being shoved back roughly a bit. She leaped up, still aiming his own wand at him, and she dipped into an extended  _arabesque_ , her eyes locked on his. Voldemort smirked.

" _Stupefy!_ " he exclaimed, but the spell ricocheted off her strong Shield Charm, sending blue light out in endless rays. Bellatrix curled her arm around her leg, pulled herself up  _en pointe,_  mumbled something Voldemort couldn't hear, and then screamed,

" _STUPEFY!"_

Her spell hit him before he could block it properly. He didn't have a Shield Charm up, so he was socked in the stomach with the Stunning Spell. He managed, even wandlessly, to block part of its power, but he was rocketed back against the wall and slumped down. He felt dizzy and weak, and then he saw through bleary eyes that Bellatrix's ballet shoes had appeared on the ground before him.

" _Rennervate,_ " he heard her incant gently, and as he sat up slowly, he smiled at her and nodded.

"That was… exceedingly well done," he said. She grinned but said apologetically,

"I hope you weren't hurt, Master."

"No harm done." He stood up slowly, feeling creaky, and he told her, "Come downstairs with me to my office; I want to work with the crystal ball today."

He watched Bellatrix change out of her pointe shoes and rehearsal skirt, which she stored in the little cupboard in the corner, and pull on her black cotton dress and flat shoes. She pattered out after him, and as they walked downstairs, he told her softly,

"You've progressed so well with dueling, Bella. Really. I remember just a few months ago when you could barely hold a Shield Charm against a simple Knockback Jinx. Soon enough, you'll be the most powerful person on a battlefield."

"Aside from you, of course," she said, playing with her braid, and he nodded.

"Aside from me. But there will be battles, and you will fight."

Bellatrix flicked at the compass on the key round her neck, seeming very thoughtful. She was behind Voldemort in the winding stone staircase when she asked softly,

"Master, what did you mean on Christmas? When you spoke about formality between us? Is there some other way that I can become yours aside from just being marked like the others? What formality did you mean?"

They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Voldemort turned to her in disbelief. Was she really still that near a child, that she hadn't realised how close he'd come to proposing to her on Christmas? He gulped hard and shook his head, and he said simply,

"I mean that I want it to be plain, to you and to me, that what exists between us is not merely the bond of a master and servant, nor of a guardian and a ward. That there is something more. It is not a simple affair. That is all I meant, and we needn't speak further of it now."

"Oh." Bellatrix nodded and followed him down the corridor toward his office. His heart sped up a little in his chest, and he could hear the portraits on the walls whispering to one another. They liked to gossip, he knew. They were worse than Aeta in that way; he was surprised she hadn't taken them all to Wales.

He had set out the colour crystal ball on his desk in his office, and as he sat, he encouraged Bellatrix to sit opposite him. He sighed and told her,

"I'm going to reach for an emotional memory. Something that triggers strong emotions. You'll have your hands on the glass. As the memory plays out, I want you to identify what you are feeling. With each identification, push the sensation away until the glass goes blank and you can show me the sea and the stars. All right?"

"Yes, Master." Bellatrix nodded very firmly, and she put her palms flat on the sphere. She took a very deep breath, met Voldemort's eyes, and then smiled just a little. He nodded and murmured,

" _Legilimens._ "

He was expecting for the strongest memory to be another instance of bullying. But as he rifled through useless studying sessions and family parties, something powerful jabbed at him. He reached for it, yanking at it, and realised it was the memory of her waking with him just this morning. He frowned a little, swallowing hard. She was blinking her eyes open, breathing in the woodsy smell of him, drifting her fingers over his slowly rising chest.

The smoke in the crystal ball went deep burgundy, and Bellatrix said in a bland tone, "Comfort."

The memory flickered, and the smoke went plain grey for a moment. Voldemort could see in his mind as Bellatrix started to straddle him, and then the smoke went a more vibrant, ruby red. Bellatrix smirked, shaking her head, and she whispered,

"Desire."

But the smoke quickly went grey again, and the image was gone from Voldemort's head for an instant, replaced by a thudding, heavy blackness. He tried to catch his breath as the memory came back in. She was sitting atop him, bending to kiss his cheekbones as he woke up smiling. The smoke in the ball went bubblegum pink, and Bellatrix said almost happily,

"Playful. But now, nothing."

Suddenly the ball looked as though someone had sucked all the smoke right out of it. Voldemort watched as the space inside the glass was replaced with the image of a vast, black sea upon which endless stars were perfectly reflected. In his mind, the memory of waking with her was gone. Bellatrix had shoved away the comfort, the desire, the playfulness. She had given him blankness. She had succeeded.

His eyes burned mightily then, and he nodded up at her as she pulled her hands from the glass.

"You have done magnificently today," he told her. "Why don't you take the rest of the day for yourself? You've been most productive."

* * *

"You could marry her in secret. I could officiate," Abraxas was saying where he sat in his own chair with a snifter of brandy. Voldemort stared into the crackling fire, sipped from his citrusy brandy, and shook his head.

"No. I can't marry her. She didn't even realise that's what I was asking her to do."

"With all respect, Master, is it possible that you were particularly vague about it?" Abraxas asked, and Voldemort shut his eyes as he said softly,

"She's my ward. And she's seventeen. And I will never marry."

"Why not?" Abraxas pressed, rising from his chair to go stand in front of the fireplace. He shrugged. "If it makes you happy, marriage is a wondrous thing."

"You are the very last person on Earth who ought to be giving advice on marriage," Voldemort snapped, though of course Abraxas and Aeta had found a way to stay married and civil despite a biological difference that made traditional relations nearly impossible. He rubbed at his forehead and murmured, "I'm trying to figure out a way to kidnap that McLaggen boy over the summer. Bring him here… like a gift. Let her kill him."

"The McLaggen boy," Abraxas repeated. "The one who bullied her?"

"You don't know the half of it," Voldemort said softly. "He deserves to have his balls sliced off and stuffed down his throat."

"Oh, dear." Abraxas sipped at his brandy, and then he said seriously, "Master, you know very well that if the Ministry were to find anything out about something like that…"

"Yes. They'd toss her into Azkaban and she'd never see the light of day again. I know." He swigged down the last of his brandy inelegantly. "I'd do it myself, but it's a task she has to complete. She'll have to wait until after her house arrest is up, until my movement gains more momentum. But I don't like to keep her waiting. Not about that. I want to let her rip that boy apart. I want to watch her destroy him."

He was still staring into the fireplace, but he saw out of his peripheral vision the way Abraxas calmly sipped his brandy and said,

"You bought her diamonds for Christmas."

"And opals, and silver. What of it?" Voldemort snapped. Abraxas shrugged and said nothing. Voldemort scowled. He shook his head, setting his glass down beside him. He stared into the fire again and mused,

"She battle dances. She moves like no one's ever moved. She's got instincts like… I haven't got a simile for it. She's on her own when it comes to instincts. Her mind is so powerful. I can't fall out of love with her. I have tried. Where am I meant to go from here, Malfoy? What does a man do when he lives in the same house with a witch who can't leave, a witch who worships him, a witch who impresses him, whom he loves despite efforts not to do so? What does a wizard do in that situation?"

"I think you marry her," Abraxas said bluntly, "Master."

Voldemort let out a heavy breath and shook his head. "No. She's seventeen, and she didn't even realise that's what I was suggesting on Christmas. She had no idea whatsoever. So I will take great care with that last scrap of naïveté, for it is probably the final hint of innocence Bellatrix Black will ever have. She's gone to bed in her own rooms. I have my own suite; I mean to spend my nights there for the foreseeable future. Goodnight, Malfoy."

Abraxas nodded, looking sombre, and he sipped his brandy again as Voldemort left the lounge,

"Goodnight, My Lord."

**Author's Note: Oh, dear. She's getting** _**good** _ **. So good. Perhaps too good for Voldemort to endure. Will she eventually catch on to what exactly he was suggesting on Christmas? And it's almost time for New Year's… which means someone's "not celebrated" birthday… as well as a last-minute visit from Andromeda and Narcissa before they go back to Hogwarts. Uh-oh.**


	28. Prison

Bellatrix let out a shaky sigh as she raised her fist and rapped on the door to Voldemort's office. It was two in the afternoon; she had less than an hour before her father and sisters arrived for their last visit before the girls went back to school. She'd have come much sooner, but she hadn't finished knitting until five minutes earlier.

"Enter," Voldemort said through the door, and Bellatrix pushed it open and walked in. He set down his copy of the  _Daily Prophet_  where he sat at his desk, pulling off the pair of black reading glasses that Bellatrix had begun to see as rather attractive. She fingered the brown paper-wrapped parcel in her hands and said meekly,

"Happy birthday, Master."

He tipped his head and rolled his eyes. "I've told you, you silly girl. I do not celebrate my birthday."

"I know," she nodded. "And that was good, actually, because after all the money I spent on Christmas gifts, my allowance coffer's run a bit dry. But, just the same, I wanted to give you something. So… happy birthday."

She passed him the paper wrapped parcel, and he smiled a little. Before he could open it, Bellatrix asked,

"Will you tell me which one it is?"

He looked confused, and she specified,

"I know you're a few years older than my father, Master, but -"

"Oh. Forty-two," he said, somewhat awkwardly. He cleared his throat and said softly, "I'm forty-two today."

She gave him a pleasant smile and nodded as he unwrapped the parcel. He pulled out the black fingerless gloves inside, which had taken considerably more time and effort than Aeta Malfoy's green mittens. In fact, Bellatrix had tried and scrapped two whole pairs before finally getting it mostly right with these. She watched as Voldemort slipped them on, and he flashed her a rare grin that showed his teeth and everything.

"I thought the fingerless gloves would make it easier to use your wand," Bellatrix shrugged, and he nodded as he stood and came around his desk. He put his hands on either side of her face, and the wool she'd used to knit the gloves scratched her cheeks a little. He bent to kiss her, and the two of them slowly moved toward the wall.

"Thank you, Bella," Voldemort murmured. He kissed her, softly at first, then more deeply, pushing her lips apart with his tongue. He traced the roof of her mouth, and she held the shoulders of his robes as she moaned a little. She encouraged him to back up against the wallpaper, and she whispered against his mouth,

"I haven't finished giving you your birthday gift, Master."

"You haven't?" He kissed her again, so deeply now that he had to hold her close, since her knees buckled. She squealed when he suckled her tongue, and when at last he pulled away, she started to sink down onto her knees, feeling a flutter of nerves in her belly. She was determined today. She knew what she wanted to do to him. She knew how she wanted to please him.

"Fellatio," she said softly, reaching into his robes and unbuttoning his trousers. "No teeth. Use your lips and tongue just as you'd use your hand."

"Bellatrix." Voldemort started to peel off his black wool outer robe, letting it fall to the ground to get it out of the way, and then he burrowed his fingers into her curls. Bellatrix licked her lips, staring at his cock, sliding her hand down his shaft and revealing his swollen, purplish tip. She gazed up at him and sang quietly,

"Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you."

"Bellatrix." He pushed his hips forward a little, his fingers cinching in her hair, and his eyes fluttered. She licked around his tip, suckling at the spot on the bottom where she knew he liked to be touched. He groaned a bit, and she sang, her breath warm on his skin,

"Happy birthday, dear Master. Happy birthday to you."

"Bellatrix." His voice cracked then, and he sounded sleepy as he rubbed his fingertips against her scalp. Bellatrix pinched her wet lips together and then pushed his tip against them, as though he were penetrating her mouth like he penetrated her between her legs. She instantly began to suck, drawing him close to her throat. She ignored the instinct to gag, knowing that she could overcome that just as easily as she overcame feelings during Occlumency. She repeated the action, pulling Voldemort's cock out again, drawing it in and down and back, and then she swallowed him as if trying desperately to pull him to her stomach.

"Oh!  _Oh._ " Voldemort's fingers yanked a little at her hair, which felt so good that she flushed soaking wet between her legs. Bellatrix squirmed a little, knowing that today was not her day for gratification. It was his day. His birthday. She used one fist to trail behind her mouth, and her other hand fondled his orbs as she knew he liked.

"Bellatrix!" He sounded strained now, and when she looked up, his back was arched and his head had pushed back against the wall. His seed would be very bitter, she knew. She likely wouldn't care for the taste, the book had said, and it was her choice what she did with it. Bellatrix, for some reason, wanted it all over her. She could tell that he was close. She thrust her mouth onto him again, gulping him deeply into her throat, feeling the jab of his tip against her aching throat, and she could tell he was tight, seconds away from bursting.

"Bellatrix." It seemed he'd forgotten how to say anything other than her name. Now it was coming out as a broken whispered, and his hands had gone slack in her hair. She pulled back, holding his cock firmly, aiming it, and she whispered up at him,

"Paint my face, Master."

" _Oh_." He shut his eyes for a moment, then forced them open, seeming like he wanted to watch. His jaw dropped open, and he gasped a few times, and his fingers tangled limply in Bellatrix's curls. His come came erupting out in uneven jets, five or six of them, landing in warm splashes from Bellatrix's forehead all the way down to her chin. It got on her eyelashes, on her nose and cheeks and lips. She peeked her tongue out to taste it - like a coin dipped in sour milk. Metallic and foul, but heady and masculine. She stared up at Voldemort, who studied her like she was a work of fine art, until he pulled his wand out and aimed it at her. He was still wearing the fingerless gloves she'd made him, she realised as he murmured,

" _Tergeo… Scourgify._ "

He helped her stand, and then he slowly tucked his cock away, buttoned himself up, and pulled his outer robe back on. Finally he studied Bellatrix again and told her,

"It seems I may have been missing out a bit in not celebrating my birthday."

She laughed at that and said demurely, "I only hope I gave you gifts worthy of the Dark Lord ascending. Master."

He tipped her chin up, and she felt the wool she'd knitted for him on her skin again. He kissed her cheeks, then her forehead, and he murmured,

"Thank you. I do love you very much, you know. Now go wash your face with some real soap. Your father and sisters are coming in less than an hour."

* * *

"So, is Lucius still in Wales?" Narcissa asked as Dobby rolled in a tea cart. Andromeda rolled her eyes and insisted,

"You can see Lucius at school, Cissy. Unlike Bella, who doesn't go to school anymore."

Bellatrix poured herself a cup of hot water over a bag of peppermint tea, dropping in a cube of sugar, and as she stirred, she said quietly,

"He's in Wales, Cissy. Sorry. He was here the first few days of the holidays. I think the… erm… Mr Riddle is meeting with both Daddy and Mr Malfoy."

"Is Mr Riddle very good friends with Mr Malfoy?" Narcissa asked curiously, and Andromeda sniped,

"Why do you care about middle-aged men's friendships?"

Narcissa took a small sip of her own tea, and Bellatrix huffed a breath. She looked at Narcissa's silver-painted nails, and she smiled.

"The nail varnish looks good, Cissy."

"Oh, yes! Thank you." Narcissa held out her hand and grinned. "I admit that I've tried every colour. I love them all, the silver the most."

"Mummy wasn't exactly amused by her anti-wrinkle serum," Andromeda said. She still hadn't served herself any tea. Bellatrix shrugged, looking round the dim parlour.

"Is that why she didn't come?"

"Actually, she's with Gran Irma," Narcissa said. "Gran's rheumatism is acting up these days, so Mum's gone to stay with her for a few weeks."

"Oh. I'll send a letter to Gran," Bellatrix nodded.

"You can be kind when it suits you," Andromeda nodded. "But you give gifts that you know people will hate."

"Oh, did you not like that black lipstick?" Bellatrix asked lightly. "I thought it would complement your personality."

"Bella," Narcissa breathed, sounding shocked. Andromeda narrowed her eyes and folded her hands in her lap. She looked around and noted,

"This is some prison, Bella."

"I'm under house arrest," Bellatrix corrected her, and Andromeda nodded.

"Yes. You are treated to a nice long stay in a manor, thanks to the generosity of a Dark wizard even more notorious than you."

"What are you implying?" Bellatrix slowly stood, and Narcissa set her tea on the tray as she said worriedly,

"Bellatrix, sit down."

"What are you implying, Andy?" Bellatrix demanded again, and Andromeda said sharply,

"You  _tortured_  a girl, Bellatrix! You  _should_  be in prison. A real prison. Not lollygagging around a mansion with your middle-aged boyfriend!"

Bellatrix whipped out her wand, yanking it from its holster. It got stuck, so she wrenched at it and jabbed it at Andromeda's throat. Andromeda shook her head, looking disgusted, and she said,

"You just can't help yourself."

"Bella, they'll throw you into Azkaban!" Narcissa exclaimed, flying to her feet and grabbing at Bellatrix's arm.

" _Expelliarmus!_ "

Bellatrix's wand whirled through the air, flying from her hand and soaring back through the room. She spun over her shoulder to see Voldemort and her father standing in the doorway of the parlour. Cygnus was staring in open-mouthed horror, and Voldemort looked so full of rage that Bellatrix was sure he was going to start throwing spells himself.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Do you  _want_  to spend years wasting away in a cold, empty cell?" he hissed, and she shook her head wildly. Voldemort held up her wand and reminded her, "The Ministry inspects this for any slight trace of malfeasance. You put one single hair out of line, and you will go to prison. Cygnus."

He turned to the girls' father, and he shook his head as he told the man,

"If I have need of you, I will come to your home to meet. We will communicate in writing as much as possible. Absolutely no family visits until further notice."

"But, My Lord," Cygnus began, and Voldemort snarled,

"I said that there are to be no family visits. Does this look helpful to you? Get the girls home. Now."

Cygnus looked frightened, but he nodded and mumbled, "Yes, Master. Come, Narcissa. Andromeda."

Narcissa scurried to her feet and squeezed at Bellatrix's hand as she passed by. Andromeda moved silently by Bellatrix, but as she passed Voldemort, he said,

"Andromeda."

She looked up at him, and Voldemort reminded her,

"There are consequences to fraternising too closely with Mudbloods. It would do you well to remember it."

Andromeda said nothing. She just followed Cygnus and Narcissa out of the room. Once they were gone, Bellatrix let her tears spill, and she said quietly,

"My Lord, I am so -"

"Go to your rooms," Voldemort said sharply. He was still holding her wand, but Bellatrix did not dare ask for it back. She gulped hard and started to walk by him. She bowed her head and whispered another apology as she passed. He reached for her shoulder, and when she looked at him, he asked very seriously,

"When I suggested to you on Christmas Day that there should be more formality between you and I, what  _exactly_  did you think I meant?"

Bellatrix's eyes seared as she remembered how, an hour and a half earlier, he'd had her face in his hands, which had been covered in the gloves she'd knitted for him. He'd been newly recovered from the pleasure she'd given him, and he'd told her that he loved her. But he seemed very angry now. His hand tightened on her shoulder.

"What did you think I meant, Bellatrix?"

She shrugged and admitted, "I thought… erm… I thought that you were suggesting that someday… someday I might be your… girlfriend."

"My  _girlfriend_." He shut his eyes. He did not seem amused; he was not laughing at her. He let go of her shoulder and whispered, "Is that really what you thought?"

There was silence for a very long moment then, and he handed her her wand back. She silently tucked it away and listened as he said in a quiet voice,

"You will not be allowed any visitors or social events until I can be certain you can exhibit real self-control. If you cast a jinx, hex, or curse, you  _will_  go to Azkaban, and I will not be able to protect you. I do not care if it is New Year's Eve. Go to your rooms."

Bellatrix hesitated, but she finally walked off, saying over her shoulder, "Happy birthday, My Lord."

**Author's Note: Blow job lemon! Fight with Andromeda! Oh, my! And she really had** _ **no**_   **idea what he was asking on Christmas. What now? How will he be sure she can exhibit that self-control? Hmmm… A HUGE HUGE HUGE thanks to all those who have left feedback; I appreciate it so very much.**


	29. Control

"Enter."

Voldemort stared out the window of his office, listening to the door open and shut behind him. He'd had two meetings already today. First had been with Yaxley to discuss how Thea Mulciber was utterly incompetent in her post as a secretary in the Auror Office and needed replacement immediately to maintain the movement's powerful presence at the Ministry. Second had been with Rookwood, who had begun to create copies of Ministry records and was updating Voldemort on his progress. Now he had Abraxas coming in to talk about whether Lucius was too young to be asked to make reports on fellow students from Hogwarts.

"Good afternoon, My Lord," Voldemort heard Abraxas say, and he just grunted quietly in response. It was sleeting outside; ice was lashing against the windows. It would have been treacherous to try and travel today. He almost pitied Yaxley and Rookwood for having had to walk out through the gardens to Apparate.

"Master?"

Voldemort turned his chair round and gestured for Abraxas to sit. He folded his hands on his desk and said flatly,

"I have decided that, as a second-year, Lucius is too young to be safely and reliably spying. Next term, perhaps. For now, I do not believe there is anything I can not learn about Dumbledore at Hogwarts that I can not learn from my spies in Knockturn Alley and Hogsmeade."

Abraxas frowned. "Yes, Master. I will hold off on any instruction to Lucius. Perhaps we can give him more detailed training over the summer on the matter."

"Training," Voldemort said softly. He nodded, staring down at his hands. He thought of Bellatrix battle dancing in her studio. He thought of her here in his office, her palms pressed to the crystal ball he'd bought for her, calling out the emotions was feeling and overcoming them. He thought of her yanking out her wand and pointing it at Andromeda. He shut his eyes and listened to the sleet outside.

"Master."

He opened his eyes and read the doubt and confusion on Abraxas' face. Abraxas dragged his fingers through his ice blond hair and asked pointedly,

"Master, has she come out of her suite in the last week?"

"I wouldn't know, Malfoy," Voldemort said sharply. "I told her to study. I gave her a stack of books, stories about self-control, about containing magical outbursts, about… I told her to study."

"Well, she's apparently been reading for a week, sir," Abraxas said, and Voldemort shrugged. He listened to the ice outside. Abraxas sighed and licked his bottom lip carefully.

"My Lord," he said, "you have told me that she did not understand what you suggested on Christmas. Have you clarified the matter for her?"

"No." Voldemort turned his chair back toward the window, and Abraxas asked,

"Have you worked with her directly on the issue of self-control? You told her she could not have social participation or family visits until she could demonstrate self-control; have you worked with her on that skill set?"

"No." Voldemort stared out the window. "I am derelict of duty as a legal guardian, it would seem. You have come to scold me, have you?"

"No, My Lord. If you will permit it, I have attempted to come as a friend," Abraxas said, and Voldemort muttered,

"I have no use for friends."

"Have you any use for her?" Abraxas pressed, and Voldemort retorted,

"You are becoming just as surly as your wife. You have spent too much time with her as of late, I think."

"Perhaps we could all learn a little from Aeta," Abraxas said quietly. "At the very least, she has taught me to chase happiness to the very ends of the Earth, and when that happiness is found, to take hold of it and not release it willingly."

Voldemort's eyes burned. He was suddenly very glad he was facing away from Abraxas. He shook his head and said,

"She is a child, Malfoy. She thought I wanted her as my  _girlfriend._ "

"Perhaps, Master, she could not fathom herself worthy of being your wife, so her imagination did not dare venture that far," Abraxas suggested. Voldemort had a sudden mental image, a flash, a hue and a cry in his head.

He could see her suddenly, wearing a gown of black raw silk, her hair tied back and pinned with opal and diamonds. He was holding her hands, murmuring words to her as Abraxas tied an enchanted ribbon in a criss-cross pattern around their clasped hands. They wouldn't tell anyone. They wouldn't file paperwork. Isadora Stevens would never know. Voldemort gulped.

"Cerulean blue. The colour of the sea when you've sailed past the shallows, before you reach the very depths," he said. He stood slowly and looked at Abraxas, who frowned. Voldemort clarified, "That is the colour of longing. Not of lust, nor of craving. This is the colour of anxious, ardent yearning. Would you like to see?"

Abraxas blinked and nodded, and Voldemort walked over to the side table against the wall where he kept the crystal ball. He pulled off its velvet cover and pressed his palms to the glass sphere, shutting his eyes. He thought of Bellatrix dressed in raw silk, her hair pinned with opal and diamonds. He thought of their hands being twined together, of the two of them making secret promises. And when he opened his eyes, he nodded down at the crystal ball and observed the colour of the smoke inside.

"Cerulean blue. The sea just beyond the shallows. Longing."

He shut his eyes again and pushed the idea away. He shoved away the ludicrous notion of marrying a seventeen-year-old girl, for that was all that she was at the end of it all. He was a forty-two-year-old man, and she was a seventeen-year-old girl. She was his servant, and he was her master. She was his ward, and he was his legal guardian. That was the way of things. The opal and diamonds were gone; there were no promises. There was just a long room, a long concrete room with a single candle burning at the very far end. And when Voldemort opened his eyes, the smoke inside the ball was a rich royal purple. He looked at Abraxas and said firmly,

"Control."

* * *

"Bellatrix."

She jolted at the sound of her name, for she had been alone in her suite for a week now. She'd had Dobby delivering her food and coming to take the dishes away, and he'd been in to change linens and clean. But other than that, Bellatrix had been entirely alone. She flew up from the chair where she'd been reading, flinging herself to her feet so quickly that she almost fell over.

"Master," she said, bowing her head. She was already in her nightgown, her hair tied into a braid over her shoulder, and as he walked quickly into the room, Voldemort started pacing and talking quickly.

"You have demonstrated multiple times that your immediate reaction to embarrassment, frustration, or offence is to become angry and take out your wand."

"Yes, Master. But I've been reading diligently," Bellatrix insisted, "just like you ordered me."

"And what have you found?" Voldemort demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. Bellatrix gulped hard and shifted where she stood. She felt very nervous, almost like when she'd first met him, and she stammered,

"W-Well, I… I found a book that recommended deep breathing during situations of anger. I thought perhaps that I might try using mind clearing similar to what I do during Occlumency. That if, for example, I feel my heart rate and breath rate rising, I might shut my eyes and imagine blankness to try and de-escalate the anger."

"Hmm." Voldemort nodded. "And what if someone goaded you? What if they  _wanted_  you to lose control? What if I said to you, right in this moment, that you were hideous, that your hair was a hornet's nest, that your chest was flat, that you were sour and unpleasant? It's all true, isn't it? People have been saying it for years. Perhaps they've been right. I think they were right."

Bellatrix felt her eyes burn. All those things had been said by bullying Gryffindors, and from them, those words had made her feel anger. But from Voldemort, they just stung. They just wounded her. Did he really think any of that, or was he just testing her, like that day up in the dance studio when he'd lied and said the Ministry was coming to get her? She shook her head and insisted softly,

"I am not hideous, Master. You have told me that I am beautiful."

"No. Jamie McLaggen was right. About everything," Voldemort snarled. Bellatrix did feel a spike of rage then, and she scowled up at Voldemort as he approached her. She said through clenched teeth,

"I'm going to make Jamie McLaggen eat his balls."

"If you murder Jamie McLaggen, I'll see to it that they administer the Dementor's Kiss to you," Voldemort threatened her. Bellatrix felt a sudden urge to snatch her wand, to Silence him with a spell. But instead she shook her head, shut her eyes, and envisioned the enormous black sea, the empty starry sky. She could hear Voldemort saying to her, "Your sisters will do something great with their lives, but you'll wind up dead in your first battle, and I'll forget all about you, and no one will mourn you. You won't have mattered. Bleak and Bloody Bellatrix."

"Black flecked with red," she murmured. "Pain."

"Oh, does it hurt?" he asked, his voice taunting. Bellatrix kept her eyes shut. She kept trying to imagine the sea. Stars upon stars. She wanted to hex him, to hurt him. He was hurting her.

"You will die," Voldemort's voice said softly, "twirling around like an idiot, spinning like a moron, taking a Killing Curse and slumping like a slaughtered pig. And I will forget about you the next day."

Bellatrix shoved roughly then, her hands pushing his chest as hard as she could. Her ears rang, and when she opened her eyes, his face was very serious. She shook her head and whispered,

"I'm sorry."

"You lost control," he said simply, and she said in a shrill tone,

"I have not seen you in a week, and then you come in here and start mocking me!"

He said nothing at all to that. He made a move to leave the room, but Bellatrix called after him,

"Master!"

He turned round, looking mournful, and Bellatrix shrugged.

"I know now. What you meant on Christmas."

She did, too. She'd figured it out. Sitting alone for a week had left her with loads of time to think through the matter. He'd been asking her, in a very roundabout way, to marry him in a very distant future. She nodded at Voldemort and wrung her hands before her, and she said quietly,

"I am very sorry, My Lord, that I lack self-control. I will continue to practise, day and night. I will have control of myself. I promise."

He cleared his throat and walked slowly toward her.

"You do know, don't you, that I would  _never_  forget you if you died in battle?" he asked. "And you do know that your dueling is terrifying? You do know that your hair is lovely, that your body is beautiful, that your sisters are both fools in their own ways, and that you are… you mean so much more to me than anyone else has ever meant or could ever mean? You do know, don't you?"

"I think so, Master," Bellatrix nodded. She snared her arms around his shoulders as she approached. "I am sorry for shoving you."

He tipped his head. "You've been alone for a week. We'll try something different tomorrow. I'll come up with a better plan. Something less… abusive. I dislike speaking to you that way. Perhaps a more physical exercise might benefit you when it comes to learning self-control."

He was smirking then, and Bellatrix wondered just what he had in mind. He tucked her hair behind her ear, and he asked her carefully,

"What did I mean on Christmas, Bella?"

She sighed heavily. "I know what you meant."

"And?" he asked seriously. "If it were a secret? If no one else knew? Other than Abraxas; we'd need him to conduct the occasion. But if it were… you know that I love you."

She nodded, and he kissed her forehead as he whispered,

"I want to wake up beside you and call you my own. Properly. Every day. Tell me it will happen… someday."

"Oh, My Lord." Bellatrix put her head against his chest, and she shut her eyes, feeling her heart slow. "Deep red. Burgundy."

"Comfortable," Voldemort confirmed, and Bellatrix smiled as she promised him,

"The day you come to me and say it is the day, I will be your wife, Master."

**Author's Note: What color is "dysfunctional as hell"? Hahaha. That's Bellamort for you, right? Now, if these two decide to actually go through with this, can they hide it from the Ministry? Hmm...**


	30. Test

"Bellatrix."

She gasped, starting to sit up from where she lay. But a hand covered her mouth and pushed her heavily back onto her pillow, and she squealed and struggled.

"Hush. It's me," Voldemort's voice whispered. Bellatrix blinked, realising the first dull, dark blue of morning was coming through her window. She glanced at the clock. Half past four. She looked up at Voldemort, who was in his flannel pyjamas and a heavy velvet robe, and he murmured, "I am here to test you. Do you consent?"

Bellatrix nodded against his hand, which he pulled away.

"Say it," he commanded her.

"I consent, Master," she whispered, and he yanked her roughly toward the middle of the bed as he climbed more fully up with her. He pulled the blankets down and shoved her legs apart, and then he pushed her nightgown up. He stared and said mockingly,

"No knickers to bed. Naughty little thing. What, were you expecting company?"

She said nothing. She pressed her palms against the sheets, staring at him as his fingers trailed up from her knees. Up her thighs they went, and as they did, he instructed her,

"Under absolutely no circumstances are you permitted a climax. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Master," she answered him. He untied the belt around his waist and pulled off his heavy velvet dressing gown, setting it aside. For some reason, that seemed very erotic just now, and Bellatrix flushed a little wet. She blinked, her eyes still heavy from sleep, and shivered as Voldemort gently massaged her thighs.

"There are consequences to losing control," he was telling her, his voice a hum in the silent, deeply-coloured room. He'd lit the sconces, she noticed now, though it was still dim. He'd combed his hair. He smelled of toothpaste. He'd prepared for this. How long had he been awake, she wondered? She blinked a few times again and then shut her eyes, arching her back when the pads of his fingers made contact with her folds.

"Already wet. Do  _not_  come," he said sternly. Bellatrix nodded, cinching her fingers on the sheets. She felt his thumb dragging slowly up and down, all the way from the dripping base of her entrance around its perimeter, up to her clit, pushing there in circles. He did it again, working back down the other side, caressing her lips, making her sodden.

"Master." Bellatrix reached desperately for his forearm, but he told her,

"Keep your hands on the bed and do not come. Show me that you have control of yourself."

"Oh." Bellatrix arched her back up as she squeezed at the sheets. She cried out when he inserted one finger, then another, then another. Three fingers stretched and pulled at her, and all the while his thumb played and played. She couldn't take it. She opened her eyes and begged him,

"Please. Please, I can't. I'm going to -"

"No. You may not." He shook his head firmly and reminded her, "You are not permitted a climax, Miss Black; get back down onto the mattress."

She'd started to sit up, so she flopped back down and pounded the sheets in desperation. She did everything she could to stave off the way pleasure was slamming into her brain. She searched for darkness, for black emptiness. But what she felt was a rush of heat, a steaming sense of satisfaction, and she gasped and moaned as her body clenched around Voldemort's fingers.

"No," she groaned, digging her fists into her eye sockets as he pulled his hand from her contracting womanhood. "No, no, no. Mmph. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Master."

"Hmm." She watched hesitantly as he stared at his hand, as he studied her. His cheeks were pink, and he told her in a firm voice,

"Sit up. You disobeyed me. Now you will receive your punishment. Sit up."

Bellatrix was afraid he might strike her or something, but she sat up, feeling shaky, and watched as Voldemort hauled himself up onto his knees. He used his clean left hand to wrench his pyjama trousers down, and as he knelt before Bellatrix, he pulled his cock out with his right hand, still slick with her fluids, and used it to stroke at the erection he'd gained. She watched him curiously, studying the way he gave attention to his own tip, the way he went up and down his shaft. After a few moments, his breath audibly quickened, and his left hand went to her face. He encouraged her jaw to move, and he said in a confident voice,

"Open your mouth. Wide."

She realised then what was happening, and she was dizzy with want. She knew how it tasted - like a coin in milk gone bad. She didn't care. She wanted it. This didn't feel like punishment. Bellatrix opened her mouth, and then the tip of his cock was placed on her bottom lip, and suddenly there were jets of hot fluid hitting the back of her throat. She gagged, for the sensation and the taste were too much, but Voldemort hissed at her,

"Swallow it, Bellatrix."

She did, trying not to vomit. She was handed a glass of water - where had  _that_ come from? - and she gulped it down frantically in an attempt to stay calm. She lay back down, slowly, somehow feeling more aroused than ever by what was going on. Hadn't she been asleep ten minutes earlier? She trembled a bit as Voldemort took his place between her legs again. He seemed to be examining her, and as he used his fingers to take measurement of how wet she was, he warned her,

"If you come again, there will be far more egregious consequences."

"I understand." Bellatrix stared at the ceiling, determined not to give in again. But she wanted him. Oh, she wanted him. She felt his fingers start to massage her again, and the familiar flush of need was there once more. His left hand crept beneath her nightgown and started to play with her breast. He knew she liked this. He knew she liked to have her puckered nipple pinched, that she liked when he cupped and squeezed her little breast. She tipped her head back, whispering,

"I won't."

"Good. Don't." Voldemort's fingers twisted into her, hooking, beckoning. She shook her head, shut her eyes, and murmured,

"I feel crimson. Hunger. No. I feel nothing."

She envisioned the empty sea. She was sitting in a boat on that sea, a little wooden boat without a sail. Why would it need a sail when there was no wind to blow it about? She was in the middle of the glassy, endless ocean that went far beyond the horizon she couldn't see. She stared up at the sky - stars upon stars upon stars upon stars. And there was no crimson, no hunger. There were no fingers upon her. There was nothing. All was blank and empty.

Breathe in. Breathe out. The sea was black, reflective, smooth as a mirror.

"Bellatrix."

Breathe in. Breathe out. The sky was endless. You could leap into it and fall forever.

"Bella."

She finally opened her eyes, seeing that Voldemort was no longer between her legs. He was lying beside her on the bed, situated on his back with the blankets up around them.

"What happened, Master?" she whispered, and he laughed a little.

"Well," he said, "I got a cramp in my wrist, and you went completely dry, and then I realised you were either asleep, dead, or completely at peace. You certainly covered up any emotion."

"Oh." Bellatrix pushed herself up onto an elbow and asked him seriously, "Did I control myself?"

"I should say so." He smirked. "You did rather leave the room, but I'm sure we can find a happy middle between a temper tantrum and a trance. That was quite good, all things considered."

Bellatrix smiled and lay back down with him. She curled up against his chest, brushing her fingers over his pyjama top. She frowned then and mumbled,

"I miss your bare skin here."

"I know." He stroked between her shoulder blades, but she had a nightgown on. That was odd for them, too. When they'd been sleeping in the same bed regularly, there had been a noticeable absence of clothing.

"I can not give you a ring." Voldemort grazed his fingers over Bellatrix's, over the place where a man would normally put a ring on a fiancée. "Abraxas will be the only one to know; it must be an entirely secret marriage. And so there can be no ring. I am sorry."

"I do not need a ring, Master," Bellatrix told him, linking her fingers with his. She sniffed a little and looked up at him. "Do you think it best that we wait until after the next meeting with Mrs Stevens? I fear I would not do a good job hiding it."

He smirked. "Oh, I think you underestimate just what a good little liar you are, Bella. In any case, there is neither urgency nor specific reason to delay. It is a matter of readiness. That's all."

"Readiness," Bellatrix repeated, and he nodded, carefully tucking her hair behind her ear.

"You let me know, Miss Bellatrix Black, when you are ready."

She gulped hard, feeling more than a little dizzy, and she nodded, lying back down upon his chest.  _Miss Bellatrix Black._ Would she stay that way publicly, even after marrying Lord Voldemort? She wouldn't be Madam Bellatrix Voldemort. That was laughable. Neither could she be Mrs Riddle. That was just silly. No; she would have to stay Bellatrix Black.

"Andromeda called you my  _middle-aged boyfriend,_ " Bellatrix said quietly. "Right before I stuck my wand into her throat, she called you my  _middle-aged boyfriend._ "

"Oh. Hmm. Well, I'll be your middle-aged husband soon enough," Voldemort said softly. She heard him yawn then, and he petted her hair as he told her, "You passed your exam with flying colours, Miss Black. Now. I've been up for hours debating whether or not to come down here. I demand more sleep. Shut your eyes."

Bellatrix did, and she whispered, "I love you, My Lord."

**Author's Note: Well. That's some test, no? But she certainly got her stuff together when she needed to! Now… seems like wedding bells are chiming in the not-too-distant future, no? I've decided that this fic is going to be around 140,000 words, which is about 40,000 longer than anticipated. I have much more story to tell than I'd originally planned. I hope you'll stay with me!**


	31. Bombarda

"Oof!"

Voldemort tried not to laugh as Bellatrix leaped from one boulder to another.

"Don't you dare try to cross that creek, you little felon!" he cried, finally giving into the urge to smile. " _Diminuendo!"_

His spell burst off her Shield Charm, sparkling in the frigid air. It was by the coldest the of the winter thus far. Voldemort was bundled in a heavy winter cloak of triple-layered wool over brocade robes. He was wearing the fingerless gloves Bellatrix had knitted for him, which made his wandless magic all the easier. Now he watched her keep his wand aimed at him, and for a brief moment as she dashed toward a tree, he thought he sensed that her shield was down. She was about to cast a spell, so he cried out,

" _Stupe-"_

" _Protego!"_  Bellatrix screamed. Voldemort grinned as her knee-high boots crunched on the frozen grass. She was protected again, and his half-finished Stunning Spell died on his lips. She had on the beautifully embroidered, lined cloak that he'd bought her in Diagon Alley, which she wore over layers of wool skirts and a thick tunic. She had her hair yanked into pigtail braids, which whipped around as she battle danced.

Now she used her gloved left hand to reach for a thick branch of the tree near the creek, wrenching herself up, amazing Voldemort with her strength just like she had that day he'd built a forest in her dance studio. In the instant that he watched her haul herself up, she must've taken down her shields, for she shrieked from among the bare twigs,

" _Bombarda!"_

"Bloody hell!" Voldemort tried to tuck and roll away from the explosion she'd sent at him. He sent up his own Shield Charm, sending dirt and rock flying away from the crater in the ground where the grenade-like detonation had gone off. He scowled playfully up at her. "Trying to kill me?"

"Of course not, Master." She swung down from the tree and spun elegantly. She held onto the trunk of the tree with her left hand, pointing her right leg out and spotting him with his wand as she came spinning back forward again. He still had his shield up, so he shrugged as she grinned and incanted once more,

" _Bombarda!_ "

He laughed then as the space around him exploded. The dirt that did penetrate his shield was pulverised into silt that covered his robes in a fine dust. They were completely tearing up the Malfoy grounds doing this, and he didn't care in the least. He flicked down his shield, knowing hers was down, and he pushed his palm as he muttered,

" _Flipendo._ "

"Oof." Bellatrix was tossed away from the tree, tumbling back toward the creek. Voldemort ran toward her, knowing that if she skittered onto the frozen ice, she'd be in violation of the terms of her house arrest. This side of the creek was her boundary. So he Summoned her back toward him, and she grinned as she came at him with perfect little running steps. She aimed his own wand at him, but he shook his head and said simply,

" _Expelliarmus._ "

He smirked as he expertly caught his wand, spinning it for a moment. She approached him then, looking sweaty and breathless despite the cold temperature. Her breath puffed before her, and her pink cheeks and lips contrasted with her alabaster skin. She nodded up at him, playing with one of her pigtail braids, and she said seriously,

"I am ready."

"Oh." He stopped spinning his wand then, tucking it away as he asked gently, "Are you certain?"

"Yes." She reached for his hand, for the hand that was covered in the glove that she'd made for him, and she squeezed a bit. She looked thoughtful then, and the clouds of her breath slowed and grew larger as she calmed. She lowered her eyes, looking at their hands, and she said, "Last night, I dreamed that I was in my parents' house. It was very soon. I won't be there for a long while, of course, but it was a dream, and anything can happen in a dream. Anyway. I was in my parents' house, and I was telling them. I told them that I was going to kill Jamie McLaggen, and maybe Harriet, too. I told them I was training in combat, and Occlumency, that I was learning about Necromancy and things of that nature. And I told them that I had married you, and then I woke up and I felt very free indeed."

She smiled up at him, and his stomach twisted. Blue cerulean, he thought. Just beyond the shallows. Longing. She nodded and whispered,

"I am ready."

He blinked. "Well. Choose yourself something to wear. Select a day this week. We'll do it after dinner. It will be a simple affair; you understand why. I'll speak with Abraxas about it."

He kissed her forehead and then started to walk away, but then he paused and said over his shoulder,

"Wear your hair pins, will you?"

She smiled broadly and nodded. "Of course, Master."

* * *

On freezing days like today, Abraxas Malfoy could  _always_  be found in his personal sitting room, reading, with a snifter of brandy. It was a guarantee. So Voldemort did not feel compelled to knock; he'd never knocked before on afternoons like this. In any case, he was Malfoy's master. He pushed open Abraxas' suite door and started talking at once.

"Have you got any important meetings or anything this… oh."

He froze then, for Abraxas was shirtless, with a completely naked witch bent over his writing desk in the corner of the room. Voldemort rolled his eyes. Abraxas usually knew better than to bring random witches home like this. Voldemort sighed and said curtly,

"I shall be in the corridor."

Abraxas huffed. "Sorry, Master. Erm… give me two minutes?"

Voldemort wordlessly went back out into the hallway, and as he shut the suite door, he asked the portrait of Dante Malfoy,

"How long has she been here?"

"Oh, an hour or so," Dante Malfoy's portrait said boredly. "He usually doesn't bring the girls here."

"Yes, I know." Voldemort pulled off his fingerless gloves and tucked them into the pockets off his cloak. The suite door opened then, and a tall, skinny witch with mousy brown hair and a too-long face came stumbling out, looking disheveled in her coral-coloured robes.

"Oh. Hello, Miss Mulciber," Voldemort nodded, for it was none other than Thea Mulciber, the thirty-year-old witch who had been sacked from her Ministry placement a week earlier for incompetence. She was married, Voldemort knew, but, then, so was Abraxas. Voldemort assured Thea, "I didn't see you."

"Thank you, sir," Thea said softly, hurrying off down the corridor. Voldemort knew she'd probably pass Bellatrix leaving, so he called,

"Miss Black didn't see you, either."

"Thank you," Thea said again, very anxiously. Voldemort rolled his eyes once more, stepping into Abraxas' sitting room. He wrinkled his nose and waved his wand around.

" _Airefresca._  Smells like sex in here."

Abraxas smirked as he buttoned up his shirt. "I ought to have locked the door properly."

Voldemort laughed and acknowledged, "I ought to have knocked. Why was she here?"

"Oh. She's been disconsolate since getting sacked, and I… well, I admit I rather like a damsel in distress," Abraxas said, throwing his hands up helplessly. He reached for his outer robe and said, "To be fair, I hear she was terrible at her position. And terrible at the position here, too. She's dull at conversation. I don't suppose she'll be back."

"Well. Again, my apologies for the interruption. Is it safe for me to sit here?" Voldemort gestured to the sofa, and Abraxas laughed as he nodded. He sat opposite Voldemort, who cleared his throat and said carefully,

"This week. Bellatrix would like to… we shall be married this week, I think."

All the joking vanished from Abraxas' face, and he was very solemn then. He nodded and promised,

"I have already enchanted the binding ribbon, and I have a storage box for it. We'll keep it here, in case it ever safe to use it at a later date to prove the binding happened. You know, Master, that it will glow when you both touch it, proving that the handfasting took place."

"Yes," Voldemort said. "You know the spells?"

"I do, sir." Abraxas folded his hands on his lap. "I've memorised them. You'll just do a lot of repeating. It'll only take a few minutes."

"Does it feel different?" Voldemort asked. "Being married. Does it make you feel any different from before?"

Abraxas let out a long sigh. "As you've observed, Master, I am undoubtedly the last person to consult on the matter of marriage, happy or otherwise. My marriage was arranged. It was a grand party with three hundred guests and a bride and groom who were repulsed by what happened later that night. I think everything is rather the opposite for you, My Lord, if I may speak so plainly."

"Indeed." Voldemort stood and clapped his hand on Abraxas' shoulder. "You are a good servant, Malfoy, and when there are battles won and prizes earned, you will be justly rewarded for all this loyalty."

Abraxas nodded and gave Voldemort a little smile. "Well. It's one thing Miss Black and I share, Master - a devotion to you and to the almighty cause. I will perform the marriage the moment you ask."

"Sorry for interrupting," Voldemort said as he headed for the door, and Abraxas insisted,

"No, Master. You did me a favour. Good day."

**Author's Note: I have to say that it is sooooo fun to write Bellatrix** _**really** _ **battle dancing (leaping up into trees and whatnot) and fun to write the Abraxas/Voldemort bromance. Now… it's wedding time. Everybody ready?**


	32. Key

Bellatrix's fingers trembled as she fastened the hook-and-eye clasp of her black raw silk skirt. It was of a classic style, with a lightly bustled back, resting over a multi-layered petticoat. She finally got the clasp to go, and then she pulled on the jacket-style bodice, more black raw silk lined with velvet trim. She did the buttons up the front, studying her silhouette in the full-length mirror in her bedroom.

She would be staying upstairs tonight. Dobby would be moving all her things. If she was to be married to Voldemort, then they would share a suite. Her wardrobe would be moved up there; another cupboard would be added to his bathroom. She'd asked if she would crowd him, and he'd assured her that she would not. She'd leave a few everyday items - decoys - in this suite in case the Ministry ever came for a surprise inspection.

Dinner tonight had been quiet. Conversation had been relatively strained, with the trio trying and failing to carry on talk about Gringotts, about Mudbloods eating in the same establishments as witches and wizards of purer blood. They tried to discuss Lucius having not quite made the Slytherin Quidditch squad this year, and what a great injustice that was. But all any of them could think about was what was happening after dinner, so none of the conversation seemed to matter very much. Abraxas had given them a gift at the end of dinner, a broomstick embellished with solid gold and jewels in the handle. It was a symbol of both hearth and travel, and though it wouldn't help much in a Quidditch match, it was an expensive and generous wedding gift, and likely the only one they would receive.

Now Bellatrix was in her bathroom, carefully applying peach-toned lipstick and black mascara. She'd already pulled her hair halfway back, tucking it in on itself in a sort of half-updo. Now she opened her box of opal and diamond hair pins, and she shook like mad as she arranged them carefully around the knot of hair. She held up a mirror and studied the pins, pulling one out and poking it back in again, and then she combed a bit of Sleekeazy's through the curls she'd left down until her ringlets were tight and smooth. She sighed, figuring this was as good as she was going to look, and she whispered into the mirror,

"I am getting married tonight."

Not just to anyone, either, she thought. She was getting married to  _him_ , to Lord Voldemort. She knew so very little about his past. He'd let slip once that he'd grown up in a Muggle orphanage, and she knew that he'd been called Tom Riddle. That wasn't a Sacred Twenty-Eight name. She figured he was a Half-Blood at best, though of course it seemed irrelevant given his power and the prestige he'd built for himself. He knew a lot about Necromancy, having traveled for years on the Continent. He knew a lot about death, about the Dark Arts. She figured there were all sorts of things he'd done, people he'd killed, deeds he'd committed, but she almost didn't want to know. His past was his to own. She was not entitled to it, not even as his wife.

She would still be his servant. She would still be his soldier. They had not fallen in love like most people, and they would not be married like most people. This would not be the typical arranged Pureblood marriage with an elaborate wedding an a loveless union that produced perfect little offspring. This was the passionate unification of a forty-two-year-old Dark wizard and his seventeen-year-old ward, his criminal servant. This was the binding of a legal guardian and the witch who had just come of age, who couldn't leave the place they would make their home. This was the marriage of a man who styled himself a lord, who received income from followers, who was training his wife for combat in a war on the horizon. This marriage would be secret. It would not, in any way, be ordinary.

And Bellatrix quite liked that.

She made her way out of her rooms and down the corridors toward Voldemort's office, where she'd agreed to meet Abraxas Malfoy and Voldemort. They were probably already there, she reckoned. Voldemort had come to dinner in rather formal robes of black brocade and velvet, and she figured that was what he would wear. She was right; the door to the office was open and she could hear the men talking quietly inside. When she walked in, Voldemort looked up from the desk, upon which Bellatrix saw a jeweled dagger, a silver chalice, a crystal decanter of red wine, and a long black velvet ribbon.

"Miss Black." Abraxas Malfoy bowed, quite low and very respectfully. He was dressed as he'd been at dinner, too, more simply than Voldemort, but still in elegant robes of embroidered black. Bellatrix walked slowly into the room, and Voldemort blinked a few times as he studied her. He chewed his lip, flicked his eyes to Abraxas as if he wished the other man weren't there, and then told Bellatrix,

"You look lovely."

"Oh. Thank you, Master. I'm only glad no one's forcing me into some frilly white monstrosity of a gown," Bellatrix joked. "Not my style. I suppose I could have worn my white nightgown costume from  _Starlina._ "

She smiled, and so did Abraxas, but Voldemort seemed very serious. He cleared his throat and said softly,

"Malfoy, give me a moment in private with her, will you?"

"Yes, Master." Abraxas walked quickly out into the corridor, and Bellatrix frowned at her master.

"You are having doubts," she guessed, but he shook his head and seized Bellatrix's hands in his.

"No. I most certainly am not," he assured her. "Bellatrix. Listen. You are under house arrest. Even if you fell out of love with me, you can't leave. I have no wish to… you are only seventeen. I have no reservations. None. But it was only a few weeks ago that you thought I wanted you to be my  _girlfriend_. You didn't understand that this was what I was even suggesting. So I do not wish for you to feel undue pressure. That is all."

"Oh." Bellatrix felt her eyes water, and she shook her head as she reached boldly up to hold Voldemort's cheeks in her hands. He'd used the shaving kit she'd given him, she thought distantly, to make his cheeks this smooth. She encouraged him to lower his face toward her, and she smelled the sea on him, and she whispered near his ear, "I am the luckiest witch in all the world, Master, at the mere thought of becoming yours."

He sighed. "Promise me that this is what you want, Bellatrix."

He pulled back, and she nodded sincerely. "I will serve you forever as your soldier. I will love you as your wife. It is what I want, My Lord."

He licked his lip then and called, "Abraxas, you can come back in. Not that you weren't listening or anything."

Abraxas smirked just a bit as he came back into the office. Bellatrix followed Voldemort to stand before the desk, and Abraxas folded his hands before his robes.

"Witch and wizard gathered before me," he said seriously, "We come to perform a Secret Handfasting, known only to those present. Is it the wish of you both to be bound together as husband and wife tonight?"

"It is," Voldemort said, quite firmly, and Bellatrix echoed,

"It is."

Abraxas nodded. "Master, take hold of the dagger and descend to a knee."

Bellatrix was very surprised then to see Lord Voldemort, who knelt to no one, pick up the shining silver dagger with its inlaid emeralds and crystals, place it on his palms, and get down onto a knee before Bellatrix. She stared in awe as he eyed her carefully, holding the dagger up in presentation.

"Bellatrix," Abraxas said, "In the eyes of Lord Voldemort, you are the only witch who has ever existed. For him, you are strength and beauty in one. With this dagger, he gives you his promise to defend and protect you in all ways he is able, and to honour and respect you. Accept the eternal promise he makes with the pledge of his blade. Take the dagger with gratitude."

Bellatrix carefully took the dagger from Voldemort's hands, her own fingers shaking around it as Voldemort slowly stood. Abraxas prompted Voldemort to repeat then, and Voldemort did.

" _For the girl that you were, and the witch you've become, I choose you as mine - I choose you, my wife._ "

Bellatrix slowly set the dagger back down on the desk, feeling dizzy, and Abraxas warmly encouraged her,

"Pour some wine into the chalice."

She did, spilling a little, and she heard Voldemort murmur a quick  _Tergeo_  to clean up her mess. She flashed him a grateful look and then picked up the silver chalice, thinking she might spill it again.

"Lord Voldemort," Abraxas said, "In the eyes of Bellatrix Black, you are the only wizard who has ever existed. For her, you are authority and elegance in one. With this chalice, she gives you her promise to obey and serve you in all ways she is able, and to honour and respect you. Accept the eternal promise she makes with the pledge of this chalice. Drink of the wine with gratitude."

Voldemort took the chalice from Bellatrix's hands, smiling a bit at her, and she watched as he tipped the small chalice back and drank all the wine in a few little sips. He set the empty chalice on the desk and rubbed his lip with his thumb, and suddenly Bellatrix thought he'd never looked as cripplingly handsome as he did right this minute. She craved him just now. She repeated the words Abraxas prompted her to say.

" _For the boy you once were, and the man that you are, I choose you as mine - I choose you, my husband."_

"Clasp your right hands together," Abraxas was saying, and Bellatrix felt Voldemort reach for her hand. She watched in wonder as Abraxas wound the heavy velvet ribbon round their wrists and hands and back again, criss-crossing, binding. He pulled out his black wand and aimed it at the ribbon, and he murmured softly,

"Let this ribbon secure what is already bound.  _Nogo et Ligo._ Bellatrix Black, now you are wife to Lord Voldemort. Is it your joy?"

"It is," she nodded, and the ribbon glowed silver as Abraxas incanted again,

"Let this ribbon secure what is already bound.  _Nogo et Ligo._ Lord Voldemort, now you are husband to Bellatrix Black. Is it your joy?"

Bellatrix looked up, and Voldemort smiled, his eyes glistening in the silver light from the ribbon as he nodded vehemently. "It is."

"Then this ribbon secures what is already bound. You are married this night. Be ever faithful; let this light burn within you both." Abraxas withdrew his wand and tucked it away. The silver light began to fade, and Abraxas unwound the ribbon, very carefully putting it into an intricately carved wooden box. Bellatrix watched as Abraxas held out his hand, and Voldemort said softly,

"Your key."

Bellatrix was confused, until she felt for the brass key around her neck, the one with the enchanted compass that Voldemort had given her for her seventeenth birthday. She scrambled to take the necklace off, and she handed it over to Abraxas. He shut the carved wooden box, used Bellatrix's brass key necklace to lock the lid, and then handed her her necklace back. He gave the box to Voldemort, who opened a drawer in the bottom half of the bookshelf on the right side of the room and carefully placed the box inside. Bellatrix was silent, her heart pounding, as she put her necklace back on. She was married now. They were married.

"Thank you, Mr Malfoy," she said, for the office felt very quiet.

"It was an honour, Madam Black," he said very deliberately. He bowed, first to her and then more deeply to Lord Voldemort, and then he walked without another word from the office.

**Author's Note: Oh, my. So that key turned out to be rather important, no? But at least they're married now, even if it's a total secret! These two have a check-in with Mrs Stevens coming up quickly. Will she suspect anything? Oh, and don't put it past good old Mrs Stevens to pop some kind of surprise of her own on them… no one ever said these Ministry meetings were going to continue smoothly… ;)**


	33. Sickle

" _Legilimens._ "

Voldemort whispered the word, knowing that Bellatrix was asleep beside him. She squirmed a little as he pushed into her mind. He pawed through her dreams, moving gently, trying not to wake her. Suddenly he landed on a memory, a vision of something that ached, something that burned.

_Hamish Robertson, a pimple-faced Ravenclaw from a nice enough Pureblood Scottish family, walked carefully up to Bellatrix._

' _Hullo, Miss Black,' he said cautiously._

' _Hello, Hamish.' Bellatrix kept putting her books into her rucksack, suspecting she knew what this was about. There was a Valentine's day dance coming up, a stupid social occasion orchestrated by Dumbledore in the name of 'love of all sorts.' But Bellatrix was not exactly looking forward to going to the dance with Hamish Robertson, of all people. He smelled of old porridge and talked like he was constantly under interrogation._

' _M-Miss Black,' Hamish stammered, and Bellatrix wondered when he was just going to get on with it. He looked over his shoulder, toward a table full of Gryffindors who erupted into silent giggles, and Bellatrix's stomach sank. Hamish turned back to Bellatrix, his pimpled cheeks going very red, and he asked, 'I wonder if…'_

' _Did they at least pay you?' Bellatrix snapped. Hamish hesitated, and Bellatrix said, 'I expect you've got some sort of joke prepared. You're going to pretend to ask me to the dance, and then when I act happy, you'll tell me no one would want to go with me and I was a fool for thinking so. The Gryffindors put you up to it; did they at least pay you?'_

' _No. No; Jamie McLaggen said he'd help me find a… a…'_

' _A what?' Bellatrix asked, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes, and Hamish shrugged._

' _A real date. He said if I did this, he'd help me find a real date.'_

_Bellatrix's eyes burned. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a Sickle. She handed it to Hamish Robertson, tipped up her chin, and said firmly,_

' _Do me a favour, Hamish. Find your own date.'_

Voldemort pulled quickly out of Bellatrix's mind. He couldn't take it anymore. He felt queasy. Bellatrix's hand moved on his chest, and he realised he'd woken her.

"Plum. A deep purple with hints of red," she murmured against his chest. "Cruelty and betrayal."

"I should not look in your head whilst you're asleep," Voldemort said. Bellatrix did not reply. After a long moment, she whispered,

"I know what I want to do to him."

"To McLaggen?" Voldemort asked, and he felt Bellatrix nod against his chest. He looked down and smiled a little at her. They'd been married for four days now, and today they had to go to the Ministry. Somehow, he'd have to pretend that she was not everything to him. And she did feel like just about everything now. He couldn't help that. Voldemort realised he was still completely hard with a morning erection, and as Bellatrix started to move to straddle him, he asked her,

"What are you going to do to him?"

"First," she said, rocking her hips back and forth, sliding herself along him, growing more damp by the moment, "I am going to tie him to a chair and make him watch you take me on the floor in front of him."

Voldemort laughed a little and shook his head. "What good will that do?"

"He never thought anyone would want me," Bellatrix insisted. She was wet now, and as she pushed her curls away, she moved to line Voldemort's tip up with her entrance. She sank down, hissing, and as Voldemort seized her hips, she said, "Jamie McLaggen was and is convinced that I am the most undesirable creature on Earth."

"Well. He's  _wrong_ … about that." Voldemort felt very breathless then, and he drove his head back against the pillow as he pushed his hips up hard. Bellatrix moved steadily. Up and forward, down and back. Up and forward, down and back. Up and forward, down and back. Undesirable? Voldemort studied her beautiful breasts, her narrow little waist, her wild mane of hair, and he assured her,

"I do nothing but desire you."

"Mmph." She swayed more deeply than ever, planting her hands on his hips, and she said,

"After you've claimed me in front of him, I'll torture him on and off for days and days. I'll give him water to keep him alive. Just enough to keep him alive. And in between, I'll mock him. I'll tease him. I'll taunt him and I'll sing to him and read him little rhymes. And when he cries, I'll pet his blond curls and then torture him some more."

"Bella." Voldemort felt very suddenly like he was going to come, and he realised that hearing her talk like this was driving him mad. His head was spinning. He was squeezing her waist tightly, and he asked her, "Then what?"

"Then, when he's begging for mercy with the last wisps of his breath," Bellatrix huffed, and he could tell she was on the verge of her own climax, "I will slice of his balls and wrap his fingers around them, and I will Imperius him into tasting them, and then, when his mind is almost blank except for a vivid, scarlet flash of horror, I will kill him."

"Bellatrix!" Voldemort came harder than he ever had before, feeling like he'd pass out as his come pumped up into Bellatrix's body. He shoved her down roughly onto him, hearing her shriek with pleasure. He shut his eyes and whispered, "You'll do all of it. You will destroy him. My wife. My Bellatrix…"

* * *

"Good morning, Mr Riddle. Miss Black."

"Hello, Mrs Stevens." Voldemort gave the witch a pleasant look as he sat with Bellatrix opposite Isadora Stevens. He prepared for Mrs Stevens to run them through the normal gauntlet of questioning about food, clothes, comfort, housing, and the other ordinary concerns that had come up in previous meetings. But Mrs Stevens looked very serious as she folded her hands on her desk and said,

"A formal complaint was filed and read in the Wizengamot last week regarding your case, Miss Black."

Voldemort frowned and said, too harshly, "What sort of complaint?"

"A member of the Wizengamot filed a formal complaint," Mrs Stevens said, "concerned that perhaps Miss Black's current house arrest situation may not have been reached using entirely honest means."

Voldemort felt his cheeks go hot, and he thought to himself,  _Fucking Dumbledore._

Mrs Stevens cleared her throat and said in her reedy voice, "I was approached by Mr Yaxley to handle this case in what seemed to me to be a very honest manner indeed, and I assured the Wizengamot of this. I also assured the parliamentary meeting of Miss Black's wonderful progress, and I testified that it is my professional opinion that this house arrest arrangement will lead to a rehabilitation in which she can safely rejoin society. But…"

"But?" Bellatrix's voice was a little shrill, and Voldemort had to resist the urge to reach for her hand to calm her. Mrs Stevens sighed.

"You will both be required to testify in front of a Wizengamot panel this Friday at nine o'clock sharp. During this hearing, it will be determined whether this house arrest arrangement was made honestly, and whether it is the most suitable discipline for Miss Black's crime."

"Who will be at this hearing?" Voldemort demanded. "Who will be testifying? Who is on the panel?"

"Well, I will be testifying in favour of the current arrangement," Mrs Stevens said firmly, "as I believe it is working very well for all parties. Obviously, the two of you will testify. They may call for others, like Mr Yaxley and Mr Malfoy. Minerva McGonagall and Miss Josephine Glass have been summoned from Hogwarts to testify."

"Oh, goodness." Bellatrix looked like she'd be sick, and Mrs Stevens continued,

"The judicial panel consists of Emmeline Hawkworth, Bartemius Crouch, and Albus Dumbledore."

Voldemort shut his eyes and shook his head a little. This was going to end very badly. He could feel it in his bones. He licked his bottom lip and asked cautiously,

"What will become of Miss Black? If the judicial panel determines that her current arrangement is unsuitable?"

Mrs Stevens looked a bit peaky, and she shrugged. "It is likely they would sentence her, even if only for a year or so, to Azkaban, and then put her on ordinary probation afterward."

"I do not want to go to Azkaban," Bellatrix said stiffly, and Mrs Stevens conceded,

"No one wants to go to Azkaban, dear. But you did cast an Unforgivable. You did torture another girl, and it will be quite the challenge to defend your situation, even with the argument of rehabilitation."

Bellatrix tipped her chin up. "We will make them see reason."

She did not seem afraid. Voldemort felt a spike of unease, a shock of something that very nearly resembled fear, but Bellatrix seemed determined. She handed over her wand and nodded.

"You'll need to inspect this, Mrs Stevens, yes? Nine o'clock on Friday. We shall prepare our case, Mr Riddle."

**Author's Note: Oh, dear. Things couldn't stay happy-go-lucky for long. Good thing Bellatrix has got the hang of Occlumency, if she's going to have to be around Dumbledore. Buckle your seatbelts… we're in for a bumpy ride with the Wizengamot! Sorry for so many chapters in one day - that's what happens on the weekend. LOL. If you get the chance to leave some quick feedback after all the rapid-fire updating, I'd be super grateful.**


	34. Testify

"Yaxley wasn't able to get close enough to Crouch to Imperius him?" Abraxas was hissing quietly, and Voldemort shook his head quickly.

"No," he lamented. "And we didn't have anyone close to Emmeline Hawkworth. Imperiusing Dumbledore was a lost cause. You didn't get any eleventh hour summons to testify?"

"No, Master." Abraxas shook his head sadly. Voldemort chewed his lip and nodded.

"Take care of her today whilst I'm gone. She'll be a nervous wreck. Have Dobby make her up some rose tea, will you?"

"Yes, sir." Malfoy bowed his head, and Voldemort headed into his office, where Bellatrix was standing, staring out the window.

"It's cold," she murmured, holding up the fingerless gloves she'd made for him. He gratefully took them and slid them onto his hands. She wasn't thinking clearly, or she'd remember that he wasn't going outdoors. He had a specialised Ministry Portkey, since they'd been moving back and forth between the issuing office. This one would take him to the Wizengamot. He wouldn't be going outside into the cold, but he pulled on her gloves just the same. He took her face in his hands, kissed her lips carefully, and murmured,

"I will not let them take you away."

"What could you possibly do to stop them?" she asked. He didn't have a good answer for that. He sighed.

"They've got Isadora Stevens, McGonagall, and Josephine Glass today. That's all I know. I wish I could take you, but you weren't exactly invited. Tomorrow, when I escort you there, they may shackle you. Be prepared for that."

"I'm prepared for anything." Bellatrix seemed utterly numb. She did not seem like a girl of seventeen anymore. He kissed her cheekbone and whispered,

"I love you. My Portkey leaves in one minute."

"Oh. Right. You don't need those gloves."

"I'll wear them." Voldemort kissed her other cheek, then her lips, and he told her again, "I love you, Bellatrix."

"My Lord." She seemed a little desperate then, clutching at his robes just a little. Her breath went ragged, and she kissed him again, frantically and deeply. He pushed his lips hard onto hers and soaked in the feel of her, and he assured her,

"I'll be back later."

Then, wishing with all his might that he had some sort of trick up his sleeve, he went to his desk and touched the Ministry Portkey.

* * *

"Dumbledore. May we speak?"

Voldemort approached the judicial bench from behind. Albus Dumbledore was the only one there so far, other than the Wizengamot clerk and a few spectators, such as reporters from the  _Daily Prophet_ and Cygnus and Druella Black. Dumbledore turned around slowly and said in a serene voice,

"Hello, Tom. Yes, of course we may speak, once judicial proceedings have concluded."

"I think we both know why you're doing this," Voldemort said harshly, and when Dumbledore feigned an innocent look, Voldemort nodded. "You have a personal vendetta against me, and you are extrapolating it to Miss Black."

"On the contrary, Tom." Dumbledore shook his head. "I have known Miss Black for some time now. I wish I could say I was shocked by her crime. I only wish to ensure that her sentence is fair to the victim, to society, and to Miss Black herself. That is all. Now, please, Tom… do sit down. Your testimony is tomorrow. Today you will listen in silence."

Voldemort scowled and took his place in a bleacher halfway up the Wizengamot gallery. His heart thumped heavily as he pulled his gloves off and tucked them into the pockets of his outer robe. He eyed Cygnus Black across the gallery, noticing how very nervous the man looked. He wanted to call out to Cygnus and Druella that, if it hadn't been for Voldemort, Bellatrix would have had her wand snapped and burned three days after casting the Cruciatus Curse. He wanted to tell Cygnus that he was his son-in-law now.

"All rise."

Voldemort reluctantly stood, for Emmeline Hawkworth and Bartemius Crouch had joined Albus Dumbledore upon the judicial bench. Before them was the broad wooden witness chair, and as the judges sat, Barty Crouch rapped his gavel and said in his burring voice,

"We are here today and tomorrow to discern the appropriateness and legitimacy of the house arrest situation arranged for Miss Bellatrix Black, convicted in June of 1968 of torturing a classmate, Miss Josephine Glass, with the Cruciatus Curse whilst at Hogwarts School. Bearing in mind that Miss Black was underage when she cast the spell, she was granted a sentence of house arrest at Malfoy Manor under the legal guardianship of a family friend, Mr Tom Riddle, and was given use of her wand back on her seventeenth birthday under strict conditions. This house arrest is scheduled to end with a positive Ministry reassessment at age nineteen."

"I have filed a formal complaint against this sentence," said Dumbledore, "for several reasons. First, I find it suspicious and odd that Mr Riddle, who has himself been suspected in the past of practising Dark magic quite regularly, would be allowed to act as legal guardian for a young witch convicted of casting an Unforgivable. Second, I do not necessarily find it just that a person who commits torture against another should face a so-called 'punishment' consisting of time spent in a luxurious manor, dancing ballet, eating fine food, and relaxing in a library. It may well be that it is more appropriate to pursue a more traditional sentencing pattern in this case."

"And that is what we are here to assess," Emmeline Hawkworth said. "Today, we will speak with three witches - all of whom, I am sure - will have valuable input into this matter. First, we call Mrs Isadora Stevens."

Voldemort watched as the shiny black double doors to the Wizengamot were opened, and Mrs Stevens came walking in in mint green tweed robes. She looked poised and graceful as she walked, and she nodded as she stood before the witness chair.

"Do you swear to tell the truth in its entirety?" asked Barty Crouch, and Isadora Stevens vowed,

"I swear."

"Please sit," Crouch said. Mrs Stevens sat. Crouch asked, "You serve as Miss Black's probation officer with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Who approached you to serve in this position?"

"Mr Corban Yaxley," said Mrs Stevens at once. "He said that it was very important that Miss Black have a case manager who would handle her properly."

"Properly," Crouch repeated. "What does that mean?"

"I took it to mean," Mrs Stevens said, "that this was a young girl who had committed a grave error and needed some sympathy, not just harsh punishment."

The three judges eyed each other, and Voldemort felt uneasy. Emmeline Hawkworth said,

"We have read over your thorough records of the last eight months of Miss Black's house arrest. It seems that, in your opinion, she has made great social and emotional progress. Is that fair?"

"Yes." Mrs Stevens nodded fervently. "I think that the therapy she and Mr Riddle have done has helped her become far more poised and tranquil over time."

"Did you ever have concrete evidence of this therapy besides the accounts of Mr Riddle and Miss Black?" asked Dumbledore, and when Mrs Stevens frowned and shook her head, he pressed, "Is it possible that, as she became more poised over time, he was training her to become a better liar?"

"I don't understand," Mrs Stevens said, and there were whispers in the gallery. Even Barty Crouch and Emmeline Hawkworth looked confused, but Voldemort shook his head. Dumbledore had gotten exactly what he'd wanted. He'd planted a seed.

"One final question, Mrs Stevens," Dumbledore said softly. "In your professional opinion, was there ever any sign of an inappropriate relationship between Mr Riddle and Miss Black?"

The chamber was completely silent. Voldemort raised his eyes and looked across the chamber to where Cygnus held Druella's hands. Mrs Stevens hesitated, and then she finally knitted her hands in her lap and stammered,

"Well, I… I didn't… I had no proof."

"You suspected something?" Crouch asked, and Mrs Stevens shrugged.

"They seemed unusually close for a guardian and ward. But I had no proof."

"I think we have everything we need from Mrs Stevens… we have all of your diligent record-keeping. Thank you, Mrs. Stevens. You may go," Dumbledore said. Mrs Stevens rose and bowed her head, turning to go from the Wizengamot chamber. Emmeline Hawkworth called out,

"Next, we ask for Professor Minerva McGonagall."

As Mrs Stevens left, Minerva McGonagall came in, walking like she owned the place. Her heels clacked on the tile floor, and her robes and hat swished authoritatively around her. She was nine years younger than Voldemort, so he barely knew her, but he'd heard enough. He'd certainly seen more than enough in Bellatrix's memories. McGonagall said down, and when asked if she would tell the truth, she trilled that she would.

"Hello, Minerva," said Dumbledore, and McGonagall nodded.

"Headmaster."

"Professor McGonagall," began Emmeline Hawkworth, "You taught Bellatrix Black for five years. You were the one who discovered her in the corridor with Josephine Glass. Were you shocked?"

"Well, I wish I could say I was shocked to find that Miss Black had cast the Cruciatus Curse, but I'm afraid that rather felt like a matter of time," McGonagall said. "I think all of us faculty sensed a great Darkness inside Miss Black. To be certain, she was bullied heavily by many of her fellow students, and she often cost her House points by getting into confrontations. But she frequently dragged herself into arguments by being profoundly disagreeable."

Voldemort scoffed. He couldn't help himself. Crouched scowled up and ordered,

"Silence in the gallery."

Voldemort felt his face go hot. He dug his teeth into his lip and shook his head.

"When is the last time you spoke with either Miss Black or Mr Riddle?" asked Emmeline Hawkworth, and McGonagall said,

"Last autumn, I saw Mr Riddle - who often styles himself these days as  _Lord Voldemort_  - inside Madam Primpernelle's in Diagon Alley. He was shopping for Miss Black. He did coolly assure me that there had been nothing sideways involved in arranging Miss Black's sentence or rehabilitation. But he did seem, at least to me, to be overly defensive of her."

Voldemort wanted to shout that McGonagall herself had just admitted that Voldemort had publicly spoken about Bellatrix's therapy. But he kept his mouth shut - something he would regret for many years afterward.

"Professor McGonagall," said Barty Crouch, "having taught Bellatrix Black for five years, and having discovered her after she cast the Cruciatus Curse, do you believe that a house arrest at Malfoy Manor could properly prepare her to be safe in society?"

McGonagall folded her hands in her lap, pursed her lips, and shook her head. She waited a long moment and then said,

"I'm afraid, Mr Crouch, that I see no way for that girl to be safe in society."

"Thank you for your time, Professor," said Crouch. "You may go. We now call Miss Josephine Glass."

Voldemort's heart began to race as McGonagall  _click-click-clicked_  her way out of the chamber. A new witch was shuffled in, a tall, skinny blonde with a face full of freckles and pimples. She had her school robes on, and Voldemort knew they'd brought her here from Hogwarts. Josephine Glass nervously promised to tell the truth, and when she sat, Dumbledore said,

"Hello, Miss Glass. You are in no trouble whatsoever. We merely wish to ask you a few brief questions. Please, can you describe the argument that led to your torture by Bellatrix Black?"

Josephine Glass shook with sudden tears where she sat, and Emmeline Hawkworth gestured for the girl's mother to go and give her a handkerchief. Finally, Josephine said in a voice Voldemort could barely hear,

"B-Bellatrix was being snarky with Professor McGonagall. Something about a button and needle. I can hardly remember now; it feels like it doesn't matter now. I was wrong. I called her a bitch. In the corridor, Bellatrix cornered me. We argued about whether she was a bitch or not. She threatened to destroy a portrait because the portrait told her to put down her wand. I tried to get her to calm down. Then there was red light. Red burning light and pain. Just awful pain that went on and on…"

"Thank you, Miss Glass." Emmeline Hawkworth looked very saddened, touching at her forehead and shaking her head. Barty Crouch asked pointedly,

"Did you ever participate in bullying of Miss Black?"

"Miss Glass is not under interrogation, Barty," Dumbledore reminded his colleague, but Josephine answered,

"A lot of us did, but she was terrifying. She wasn't normal. I don't think she could ever be normal. You could give that girl all the  _therapy_ in the world, and she'd never be normal. She's broken from the inside out, and that's why we teased her. No normal person responds to any teasing with a Cruciatus Curse, Mr Crouch. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I do agree, Miss Glass," Crouch nodded firmly. "I quite agree. Thank you for coming. You may go."

Once Josephine Glass had left the chamber, Crouch said,

"We will recess for today and resume tomorrow. For tomorrow's session, we call as witnesses Mr Tom Riddle and Miss Bellatrix Black. After their testimonies, we will make a determination about the appropriateness of Bellatrix Black's house arrest and, if we decide the current sentence is not appropriate, we will re-sentence the convict. This session is hereby adjourned."

He slapped his gavel on the desk before him, and he moved with Emmeline Hawkworth to quickly leave the chamber. Dumbledore moved more slowly, and Voldemort shook with rage as he descended the bleachers toward the judicial bench.

"Dumbledore," he snapped, and Albus Dumbledore turned slowly again.

"Tom," he said lightly. Voldemort shook his head. He blinked quickly. He had to play their game. They held all the cards right now.

"Don't do this. She is doing well. She is making progress."

"What sort of progress, Tom?" Dumbledore asked, eyeing Voldemort over his half moon spectacles. Voldemort shook his head and insisted,

"She mustn't go to Azkaban. You are not the sort of man to willfully throw a young girl into Azkaban. You know that she -"

"We will make a determination, Tom, on what the best decision is for Bellatrix and for our entire society," Dumbledore nodded. He held up one finger and seemed to be thinking for a moment. " _Woe to the man who too often gets his way._  Who was it that said that?"

Voldemort pinched his lips. "Merlin."

"Ah, yes. Merlin. Well. A good day to you, Tom. I shall see you tomorrow." Dumbledore stepped down from the judicial bench and walked from the chamber. Voldemort flicked his eyes up to see Cygnus and Druella looking very worried indeed, and he shook his head a bit, unsure of what he was meant to tell Bellatrix.

**Author's Note: Uh-oh. Things are not looking so great. Will Voldemort's and Bellatrix's testimonies help or hurt her case? It's obvious that Dumbledore sees straight through this situation, and we know Crouch has a burning desire to pack all Dark witches and wizards off to Azkaban. Can they manage to keep Bellatrix out of prison?**


	35. Breathe

"Breathe."

"I can't." She was hyperventilating, she knew. Voldemort had her cradled close against him in their bed, both of them in pyjamas. Her Draught of Peace had worn off, and he was kissing her neck, trying to soothe her.

"Breathe."

"They're going to take me away," Bellatrix whispered frantically. "They're going to haul me off to Azkaban."

He said nothing to that. He just kissed her lips and murmured,

"We have to get dressed."

She did, wishing distantly that she'd been able to drum up the presence of mind to make love to him one more time. They'd managed to do it the night before, but she'd been crying as he'd moved atop her, and he'd only been half hard when he'd come with a subtle little moan. Now, as Bellatrix tried to button up her simple black velvet dress with shaking fingers, she whispered,

"I c-can't…"

He came over and did up the buttons for her, and he said simply,

"You have to take more Draught of Peace. I'm sorry, but you need a small dose. If you're panicking, it'll only make all of this worse for you."

"Right." Bellatrix nodded and accepted the two drops he administered her out of the little glass bottle. She felt an easy wash of calm come over her then, and she managed to slip on her shoes and pull her hair into a braid down her back. She scrubbed her teeth and clasped on her key necklace, and she held Voldemort's hand very tightly as he led her down to his office. As they walked, they passed Abraxas Malfoy, and they paused. Bellatrix felt her eyes water, but she was still heavily under the influence of the Draught of Peace as she told him,

"Mr Malfoy, I should like to thank you very much indeed for all of your generosity. Regardless of what they decide today, I am very grateful to you."

"I'll be there watching, Madam Black," Abraxas said, giving her a respectful bow, and Bellatrix nodded. The portraits on the walls whispered as Bellatrix and Voldemort passed. He was using his thumb to caress her hand, and when they walked into his office, he swept her into a dancing stance, very unexpectedly. Bellatrix stared up at him as he swayed just a little, and she realised his eyes were rimmed red with unshed tears.

"Your battle dancing is the most wondrous thing I have ever seen in my entire life," he told her, moving to music neither of them could hear. "You are the most beautiful witch in the entire world. I fell so hard into love with you that I think I got a concussion, but I don't care. I will wait for you if they take you. I will make love to you if they let me bring you home. Either way, I am your husband, and I adore you, Bellatrix. You remember that. Promise me."

"I promise, Master." She realised then that he thought they were going to haul her out of the Ministry, but the Draught of Peace wouldn't let her cry. He kissed her then, so deeply that she was lost in him, and she felt his tears on her cheeks. When at last he pulled away, he swiped at his eyes and murmured,

" _Blancha._  Come, Bella. We have to go."

* * *

The shackles they put on her wrists were so heavy that Bellatrix could hardly lift her hands. She was led slowly into the Wizengamot chamber by two Aurors who had their wands aimed at her, and when she looked up, she could see that the chamber was about half full. There were curious members of the public, reporters, friends and foes. And sitting on a bench along the lowest wall was Lord Voldemort, waiting to testify. Bellatrix had requested that she be permitted to hear his testimony, and Dumbledore had been magnanimous enough to grant that request. Now Bellatrix was brought to a stark-looking chair beside the judicial panel, and she looked up to see her parents and Narcisa up in the gallery. They looked profoundly upset. Where was Andromeda? Had she stayed at school?

"All rise."

Bellatrix stayed standing as the three judges filed in - a kindly-looking middle-aged woman, a sour-looking grey-haired man, and Albus Dumbledore. When the judges sat, Barty Crouch said sternly,

"This is the second day of testimony to determine the validity of the sentence given to Miss Bellatrix Black. This hearing is being held due to the filing of a formal complaint alleging that the house arrest was arranged unfairly and is an unsuitable punishment for Miss Black's use of an Unforgivable Curse. Today, we hear from Miss Black herself, along with her legal guardian. We now call Mr Tom Riddle, alias Lord Voldemort."

There were many whispers then as Voldemort rose from where he sat and calmly moved across the chamber, his robes moving elegantly around him.

"Do you swear to tell the truth in its entirety?" Crouch asked, and Voldemort bowed his head and lied,

"I do." Then he sat. Bellatrix stared at him, wanting to touch him, feeling cold iron around her wrists, wondering if she'd ever touch him again.  _That is my husband!_  she wanted to scream.  _I've married him!_

"Mr Riddle," said Albus Dumbledore, "many here in this chamber know you far better these days as Lord Voldemort. Is that so?"

"It is a nickname," Voldemort said smoothly. "A nickname among friends."

"Ah." Dumbledore smirked a bit. "Is that all? Very well; we are not here to question your identity. In any case… you worked very hard with members of the Wizengamot to sway their opinion regarding Miss Black's sentencing. Originally, she was meant to have her wand permanently confiscated and destroyed, and she would serve several years in Azkaban upon coming of age. But you worked with many of our colleagues to come up with a different plan."

"It is true that I met with several members of the Wizengamot to help construct what I believed to be a more productive sentence for Miss Black," Voldemort confirmed, and Emmeline Hawkworth asked,

"Why? What stake did you have in her sentencing?"

Voldemort folded his hands. "Her father is an old friend. He and Abraxas Malfoy and I go all the way back to Hogwarts. Cygnus was distraught about his daughter living without magic and potentially serving in Azkaban. I knew that Bellatrix Black was a highly intelligent young witch with great potential, someone who had been bullied relentlessly and cruelly at school, potentially to the point of being pushed to use terrible magic."

"You assert that bullying at school caused her to use the Cruciatus Curse?" Barty Crouch leaned forward and looked sceptical, but Voldemort tipped his head up and said confidently,

"I think, Mr Crouch, that the level of bullying Miss Black endured would push most reasonable people to do awful things. I hoped that a more therapeutic approach - as compared with simple and brutish punishment in Azkaban - might benefit Miss Black so that she could re-enter society. And, as Mrs Stevens has testified, she has made enormous strides in terms of self-control."

"Hm. We have a written testimony from an absent witness asserting that, just a few weeks ago, Miss Black lost her temper at Malfoy Manor and jabbed her wand into her sister's throat, necessitating your Disarming her and scolding her firmly." Crouch held up a parchment.

"Andromeda," Bellatrix hissed softly. Voldemort flicked his eyes to her as if to silence her, and he shrugged.

"The important thing is that she  _did_  keep her composure, ultimately. We worked very diligently on self-control exercises following that incident, and I put a moratorium on family visits until Miss Black's skill with restraint improves."

"Our concern, Mr Riddle, is that perhaps Miss Black needs a more… traditional approach," said Emmeline Hawkworth. "A more disciplinary approach. Calls for rehabilitation in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement are all well and good for lesser crimes, like breeding dangerous animals, or theft of a broomstick. But for someone who exhibits a dramatic lack of self-discipline, as Bellatrix Black's school records show, and who has cast an Unforgivable Curse?"

"Do you suppose, Mr Riddle, that there is any chance this young woman could possibly become a productive member of society again?" asked Barty Crouch sharply, and Voldemort said in a quiet voice,

"I think that is a certainty, Mr Crouch, if she is permitted to complete her sentence at Malfoy Manor."

"I have a question for you, Tom," said Dumbledore, and Voldemort frowned deeply. Dumbledore shifted in his chair and said, "The terms of Miss Black's house arrest specify that, even after coming of age, there is to be no untoward relationship between the legal guardian and the ward."

Voldemort just blinked up at him. He was going to make Dumbledore be explicit. Dumbledore shrugged.

"Have you been intimate with her, Mr Riddle?"

There was a very heavy silence in the chamber, which went so quiet that Bellatrix's shackles scraped loudly when she moved a little. Finally, Voldemort said one single word.

"No."

"Very well, Mr Riddle. You may return to your seat." Barty Crouch gestured away and said firmly, "We call Miss Bellatrix Black."

Bellatrix looked up at her mother, at Narcissa, at her father, as the Aurors poked her arms with their wands and dragged her to the chair before the judicial panel. Then she stared at Voldemort, feeling her Draught of Peace starting to wear off. She couldn't cry, she knew. She imagined the vast glassy sea, and he nodded once at her.

"Do you swear to tell the truth in its entirety?" she heard Barty Crouch demand, and Bellatrix nodded.

"I do."

She sat, her shackles clattering as she did. She stared up, trying not to glare at Albus Dumbledore, and she cleared her throat carefully.

"Why did you torture Josephine Glass?" asked Barty Crouch, taking Bellatrix by surprise. She gulped and said simply,

"I lost my temper. She called me a bitch, and I lost my temper. I've explained this, sir, with all due respect."

"Yes. So you have." Barty Crouch scratched at his mustache a little. "Why did you almost attack your sister Andromeda a few weeks ago?"

Bellatrix shut her eyes and whispered, "I lost my temper."

"Sorry? Couldn't hear you." Crouch's voice was like a little dog barking, Bellatrix thought. She looked up and shrugged.

"I lost my temper, sir."

"Again? Goodness. Just like you lost your temper when your sliced open the cheek of another student, James McLaggen?"

"Yes, the same Jamie McLaggen who organised an entire school full of students booing my ballet performance. The same Jamie McLaggen who presented me with a 'certificate' saying I was most likely to -"

"Mr McLaggen is not on trial," Crouch said stiffly. Dumbledore said in a conciliatory voice,

"Let us move on to your house arrest, Miss Black. How do you typically spend your days?"

"I dance," Bellatrix said. "I find ballet to be very soothing to the mind and body. I work on skills I would be learning at Hogwarts. Charms, Transfiguration, Potions. History of Magic, even."

"You study these subjects with Mr Riddle?" Dumbledore asked, and Bellatrix nodded.

"Yes, sir. He has been very kind and attentive."

"I see you have a key round your neck," Dumbledore said. "Would you mind… may I see it? Perhaps if Miss Blaine could remove it."

"What?" Bellatrix flinched as the female Auror came up behind her and unlatched her brass key necklace. "What? Please, no."

"I assure you that I only wish to admire it," Dumbledore said with false kindness in his voice. "I will give it back momentarily."

He took the key, flicked his finger at the compass, and then looked up when it landed on Voldemort. He flicked it again, and Voldemort smirked. Dumbledore handed the necklace to the Auror, Miss Blaine, and said softly,

"Miss Blaine, would you give this to Mr Riddle for safekeeping? Thank you. Miss Black, wherever did you come by such a lovely trinket?"

Bellatrix felt sick now. She sighed. "It was my seventeenth birthday gift. From Mr Riddle."

"Do you often call him that? Mr Riddle? You see, I am a Legilimens, Miss Black, and though you are, I can tell, well skilled in Occlumency, I can see little flickers of another word.  _Master._ "

There were whispers then, and Bellatrix shook her head as Crouch pounded his gavel and waited for quiet in the chamber. Dumbledore gave Bellatrix a very serious look, and he said, as if warning her,

"Many of us remember very well a man called Gellert Grindelwald, Miss Black. A man who gathered followers through a variety of means. And sometimes, he would even tell certain people that he cared deeply for them. But certain people, Miss Black can never love. They can only manipulate."

There was a very heavy silence in the chamber then, and Bellatrix had a thick feeling inside her skull, the sensation that something awful was about to happen to her. She looked over to Voldemort and read silent panic in his eyes. She looked up to Dumbledore again and saw him say quietly to Emmeline Hawkworth and Barty Crouch,

"Are we in agreement, friends, on this matter?"

"I believe we are," Emmeline Hawkworth nodded. Crouch cleared his throat firmly, and his voice rang through the chamber then.

"Miss Bellatrix Black. You were found guilty in June of 1968 of use of an Unforgivable Curse as an underage witch. Your age at the time of the crime must be factored into any sentence, original or revised. But this judicial panel finds that your current house arrest situation was finagled through dishonest means and is far from the most appropriate option for you or for wizarding society at large."

"Do not do this, Dumbledore!" Voldemort said, flying to his feet.

"Sit down, Tom, and be silent," Dumbledore said, almost regretfully. Voldemort stayed standing, his fists clenched, and Bellatrix looked up to where her family sat in the bleachers. Her mother appeared to have collapsed against her father, and Narcissa was already sobbing. Crouch continued,

"This panel finds that you are in need of a far more traditional punishment - even if it is more lenient than that usually doled out to those who commit an Unforgivable. Your wand, which was confiscated when you arrived today, will be permanently destroyed. You are hereby sentenced to six months' time in Azkaban Prison, followed by five years' probation with no use of magic allowed. This sentence is final."

"Six months," Bellatrix whispered, feeling numb. She shut her eyes and tried to see the sky, so endless that you could fall forever. Instead she saw an empty hallway, a candle at the end. She saw an ocean with a candle floating above it. She opened her eyes and saw Albus Dumbledore staring down at her, looking like he felt sorry for her. Emmeline Hawkworth looked sorry, too. Well, if they were sorry, why were they doing this?

"You will pay for this, Dumbledore!" Voldemort was shouting. "There is no more Tom Riddle. Lord Voldemort will make you pay for this!"

"Remove this man!" Crouch yelled, banging his gavel. Bellatrix was hauled to her feet by Aurors, and she called over her shoulder,

"Master! Master, I love you!"

"Bella. I will wait for you. Be strong, Bellatrix. Find the blankness there. Stars upon stars, you hear me? You are strong. I will wait for you." Voldemort was being ushered out of the chamber by Yaxley and Abraxas Malfoy. His face was splotched red; he looked distraught.

Bellatrix tipped her chin up, feeling tears stream silently down her cheeks as the Aurors led her from the chaotic room in chains.

**Author's Note: Oh, Dumbledore. What have you done? Now Bellatrix has to spend six months in Azkaban, and there's no more Mr. Nice Tom Riddle. How will these two spend the months apart, and what will Bellatrix and Voldemort be like at the end of these six months? Dumbledore may have been trying to stop Voldemort before he really got started, but he also may not realize just what kind of monsters he's created here.**

**This has actually been an emotional few chapters to write! I probably won't update until tomorrow so I can kind of take some time to just digest all of this. In the meantime, I'd be very grateful for your feedback.**


	36. Stars

Bellatrix was horrified when she and her escort squad of four Aurors landed from their Ministry Portkey. She gasped in terror, feeling like she was going to tumble right off the perilous cliffs around them. They were on a high, rocky island in the middle of a cold sea that was thrashing against itself. It was storming; the whole place seemed angry. She looked up at the triangular stone tower before her, and each of her elbows were seized by a female Auror. They urged her forward through the lashing rain, and she noticed then that there were at least two dozen Dementors, wispy and black and obviously profoundly Dark, hovering around the periphery of the structure.

"Move aside," growled one of the male Aurors as they shoved through the rough-hewn wooden double doors. He used his foot to shove away a House-Elf that looked like it was a sponge sucked dry. For some reason, it was manually using a bucket of water and a brush to scrub what looked like blood off the stone floors, and it grunted in reply.

"Up the stairs, Bellatrix," said Blaine, the Auror who had been the one to take off Bellatrix's necklace in the Wizengamot. Bellatrix was pushed roughly up a narrow flight of stairs that mirrored the triangular shape of the building. She felt two wands poking between her shoulder blades.

"How far up?" she asked, and Blaine snapped back,

"Walk until we tell you to stop."

Bellatrix climbed… and climbed, and climbed, and climbed. Finally, they began to pass cells. Inside one, Bellatrix heard a wizard whining for his mother. She felt queasy, but she kept climbing. She passed another cell, and she smelled the unmistakable stench of a rotting corpse coming from inside. Still she climbed, tipping her chin up.

Black with metallic red flecks. Fear. She felt fear. She pushed it away in her mind, imagining her hands on the crystal ball in Voldemort's office. He would not want her mind troubled. He would want her to find blankness here. So she climbed in dignified silence.

"Stop here," Blaine said. She seemed to be talking to the other Aurors then as she said, "I'll take her in and get her changed. You lot wait our here. Keep a Patronus going to stave off that awful feeling."

" _Expecto Patronum!_ " incanted one of the Aurors. Bellatrix was pushed into a tiny cell, a room no bigger than her bathroom at Malfoy Manor had been. She looked around and saw an oval hole in the ground, which she guessed was meant to be a privy. There was a lumpy sort of mattress on the left side of the room with a blanket that looked like it was made of burlap and would do nothing against the rickety cold coming in through the narrow window. That window let in a slight view of the angry sea outside, as well as the sight of a few floating Dementors. Very little light came in, and there appeared to be no sconce on the wall. Bellatrix stepped into the cell, and she was told by Blaine,

"Strip."

Bellatrix silently unbuttoned her velvet dress. Her fingers had been shaking like mad this morning when she'd put it on; Voldemort had had to help her do the buttons up. Now, as she took it off, her fingers were just fine. She unbuttoned the dress and slipped it off, along with her bra and knickers, and she kicked off her boots and socks. Blaine shoved the clothes into a canvas bag and informed Bellatrix,

"You will be given these back upon your release. Your uniform is there on the cot. Put it on."

Bellatrix did. It was striped and was stained, like someone else had worn it before. It was itchy when she pulled it on. She did those buttons up, too, and pulled on the too-large cotton knickers, and Blaine informed her,

"You'll be given a change of knickers and a few Scouring spells to prevent fleas and infection around once a month, if the House-Elves remember. If you're in a state of mind to remind them, you're allowed to do so. Try and eat the food they bring you, even if you do not much feel like it. You are meant to receive meals twice a day. Over time, you will probably lose your appetite. Try to continue eating."

Bellatrix chewed her lip and nodded. She glanced about and said,

"I suppose I will not be allowed any personal items? Ballet shoes or books? I won't receive letters?"

"No. You won't be dancing ballet or receiving letters," Blaine said, sounding almost amused. "Consider yourself lucky. You've only got six months. Unforgivables are meant to carry a life sentence. How fortunate that you hadn't turned seventeen yet when you cast that spell. Good luck to you."

"Goodbye, Miss Blaine. I shall remember your face and name," Bellatrix said, meeting Blaine's pale eyes. The Auror looked very uneasy, but she walked out of the cell, shutting the door, and there was a heavy clanking from outside.

Bellatrix moved to stand by the window, staring out at the Dementors. She narrowed her eyes at them and murmured,

"I am not afraid of you."

Then she moved to the centre of the cell, feeling the cold stone beneath her feet, and she pushed off the ground with one foot. She shut her eyes and spun, moving in an elegant ballet spin. She descended into a deep, extended  _arabesque._  They had told her she would not dance. She would dance. Barefoot and freezing, hungry and tired, she would dance.

Later that night, she lay on the thin, lumpy mattress, and through the window, she could see that the storm outside had calmed. She could see the sky, and she smiled a little as she whispered,

"Stars upon stars upon stars upon stars."

The black flecked with red was gone. She had pushed it away. In her mind, there was a long corridor again. She was unsure of where that image had come from, but it was a powerful blankness, that corridor with the candle at the end. She let it fill her mind, overwhelming the sadness the Dementors wanted her to begin feeling and the fear any reasonable person would experience upon coming here. She stared at the stars, and she whispered into the cold air,

"Goodnight, Master."

* * *

_Dear Bellatrix,_

_I know that you are not permitted to receive letters, so I suppose these will be more like diary entries. I had a diary, once upon a time, but I had to stop using it. It's complicated._

_I tried to use my connections to get someone to get ahold of your wand before it was destroyed, but it was too late. It has already been snapped, burned, and Vanished. So, I have written to Gregorovitch, giving him the measurements and specifics of your first wand, and have asked for a replacement that would be a good fit for you. When you are released, I will have a wand for you to use, and you will use it to kill many people - Jamie McLaggen, Josephine Glass, perhaps your sister Andromeda. Many will die at your hand._

_In the ten days since you've been gone, I have been drunk almost every day. Abraxas was growing concerned, so I Vanished all the firewhisky and wine in the house and have decreed that Malfoy Manor will be dry going forward. I will not fall prey to the common earthly hindrances of men. I know that you would not wish for me to be sitting about, morose and drunk, in your absence, and so I will not. I have, however, developed a nightly ritual of opening our marriage box, brushing my fingers over the black velvet ribbon inside, and whispering a goodnight to you, as if you could hear me. I know it is strange. I do not much care. Giving me your key is, perhaps, the only compassionate thing Dumbledore has ever done for me. He is crippled by his own decency sometimes. I will not criticise this instance._

_I know that the Dementors must be making you feel inky black - sadness. I hope that you can lie on your cot and shut your eyes and overcome the feeling of grief they give you. I hope that you can find a soothing blankness like you did when I tested you. I like to think of you like that. I like to think of you, powerful in your own mind. I have confidence in you. I love you._

_LV_

* * *

_Dear Bellatrix,_

_I went up to your dance studio today and just sat for an hour. Then I went to a cliff in Folkstone, and I waited for a Muggle bus to pass. I used my magic to shove the bus off the road, plunging it off the cliff. Fourteen Muggles died. I brought bones back to a meeting of my Death Eaters. They were all rightfully horrified. You would have laughed, I think. Somehow, I think you would have been amused. I sat in your dance studio after the meeting and tried to imagine your reaction. Sometimes I wonder if you miss dancing. I imagine it would be very difficult to dance at Azkaban. If anyone could find a way, it would be you._

_You have been gone from me for two months now. I can not keep from killing. I nearly killed your father last week. He made me very angry; he refuses to completely disown Andromeda. If he does not do it soon, I will have to punish him far more severely. I know that you would fully understand this. I took care of that Auror - Blaine, the one that hauled you away. I made her disappear. They can prove nothing. Then there was the Muggle bus._

_Bed is very empty without you. The other morning, I woke and had my eyes shut, and I was very convinced you were curled up beside me. Then I opened my eyes, and you were not there, and it felt instead like there was a boulder on my chest. I admit that I tore up what remained of the Malfoy gardens that day. I owe Abraxas a serious landscaping overhaul._

_I love you._

_LV_

* * *

_Dear Bellatrix,_

_Aeta Malfoy came today and told me that I am a changed man. She did not mean it as a compliment. Abraxas made her go back to Wales._

_I think that you would like the changes. I am harder, as though the loss of you has taken a man of stone and forged him in steel. I am Darker now, though I did not think that possible. Somehow, I do not think you would mind._

_I want to tell you, through these letters that I write to myself, that I made Horcruxes years ago. You read a little about Horcruxes during our study of Necromancy. I will not give you any more detail than to simply notify you of their existence. I am telling you of them because I felt fractured when I made them, and far more fractured when they took you away. When I made my Horcruxes, I was seeking immortality, and I grew Darker. In the loss of you, I have found a determination to conquer, and I grow Darker still. All of this, I know, you will appreciate, because that is the sort of witch you are._

_Dumbledore had no idea what he was doing._

_I love you._

_LV_

* * *

_Dear Bellatrix,_

_I fear that my separation from you has aged me considerably. I am sorry to report that when you see your husband again, you will see a man whose hairline has retreated like a terrified army. You will see a man whose hair has gone almost entirely grey, a man who now wears black-framed glasses most of the time (for my vision has weakened, as old men's vision tends to do). You will see a man with permanent bags under his eyes, a man with lines around his lips. And when you are released, you will still not yet be eighteen. Will you mind my appearance, I wonder? You will turn eighteen a month after your release. I will host a great celebration for you. I will give you more gifts than you can fathom._

_I have your new wand. I think you will quite like it; it is almost identical to your old one._

_I have now written ninety-seven letters to you, one for each day of your imprisonment. I am going to try and find a way to get them to you. I have tried to get the Dementors to free you, but efforts to break you out of prison are proving very difficult. The least I can do is smuggle you in some correspondence._

_I hope that you see stars upon stars upon stars upon stars._

_I love you._

_LV_

* * *

"Dobby."

"Master Voldemort, sir." Dobby nearly toppled over. "Master Abraxas said you needed me, sir. How may Dobby assist you, sir?"

"I need you to get something to the House-Elves at Azkaban Prison," Voldemort said from where he sat behind his desk. He cleared his throat, sipping from his rose tea, and he adjusted his glasses on his face. He was feeling very old these days, but, then, Avery and Mulciber and Nott were balding with glasses, too. They were not powerful the way Voldemort was.

"The… the Elves at Azkaban, sir?" Dobby asked, and Voldemort nodded.

"Yes." Voldemort nodded curtly. "I have a parcel that needs to be delivered to a cell in the prison. Well. Smuggled in. This is not optional. I know that you creatures have ways of communicating with one another. I am very aware that you can get in touch with them. You must do this."

He rose and brought a bundle of letters that had been tied together, handing it over to Dobby, who took the bundle with shaking hands.

"Oh… Dobby is very afraid of those House-Elves, Master Voldemort, sir," Dobby said. "They are so very angry. They are empty inside."

He shuddered, and Voldemort shrugged.

"I find I do not much care if you are frightened. Get those letters to Mistress Bellatrix. See that it is done."

Dobby bowed low. "If it is your will, and the will of Master Abraxas."

"It is. Do it." Voldemort watched as Dobby skittered out of the office, and he leaned heavily onto his desk. He gulped hard, feeling the sudden absence of the one hundred and two letters that he'd written over the last few months. The letters would either get lost, or they would get to her. She would either read them or be too far gone to know what they were.

He pulled her key out from his pocket and went over to the right side of his office. It was nine o'clock - time for his nightly ritual. He opened the drawer where he kept their carved wooden marriage box, and he used the key necklace to open it. He pried open the box's lid, brushed his knuckles over the ribbon, and thought of how, today, he'd arranged for the Gringotts vaults of six Mudbloods to be raided by individual, paid-off goblins. He whispered,

"I suppose you would be proud, Bella. Goodnight."

* * *

Bellatrix could hear the music of  _Starlina_  in her head as she danced. She was filthy; she looked nothing like the nightgown-clad Starlina who was worrying over her distant, storm-tossed lover. Bellatrix danced the solo barefoot as best she could, ignoring the pain of going up  _en pointe_  without shoes.

She kicked her leg up and back, curling her spine back, touching her foot to her head. In her mind, the music vibrated emotionally. She swung her knee down to the ground, kneeling plaintively. She looked out the window, smirking almost playfully at the Dementors guarding Azkaban. They wanted to feed on her emotion, but in her mind, they would find none. They would find empty corridors and skies in which you'd fall forever. They would find black, mirrored seas. There was no food for them in Bellatrix.

She touched her fists to her face, hearing the violin in her head as she extended her left leg out before her, pointing her toe. She pushed her arms behind her, bringing her leg back, extending her arms straight up, still staring derisively out the narrow window at the Dementors. She wrapped her arms around herself, bending town in her self embrace. The music swelled after she contorted backward, the music in her mind. She rose up, curving her arms into a perfect circle, pleading for Starlina's father and lover - but, really, for Lord Voldemort.

"Master," she whispered.

She kicked her leg into an  _arabesque_ , then whirled round in a circle, her bare, calloused foot smacking the cold concrete floor between each turn. This was battle dancing, in a way, she thought. She was fighting. She twirled, spotting the Dementor out the window, and then she froze as the music in her head did.

"Bellatrix Black?" croaked a voice from behind her. She frowned and turned, watching a knotted little hand push her tin plate of gruel and mealy apple slices through the food slot. Then came the water mug. Bellatrix was not used to hearing her name. The House-Elves never spoke to her. Sometimes they'd wandlessly Scour her through the slot, if they felt like it, or toss through a new pair of knickers, but they never spoke to her. This one had a gravelly voice, and it sounded like it had been crying.

"Bellatrix Black?" it asked again, and Bellatrix padded over to the slot. She moved her food and drink away and realised she hadn't spoken loudly in so long that she hardly had a voice.

"Y-Yes?" she whispered. She cleared her throat and said more firmly, "Yes. That's me. I'm Bellatrix Black."

Something came through the slot then - a parcel, it seemed. The slot slammed shut, and Bellatrix heard the House-Elf's feet pattering up the steps to the next cell. Her eyes welled at once when she saw the writing on folded paper on the outside of the bundle.  _Bellatrix,_  it said, and the neat scrawl belonged to none other than Lord Voldemort.

Bellatrix ignored her gruel and apples and water, and she rushed over to her cot, tearing at the twine and paper holding the parcel together. Suddenly, a barrage of envelopes spilled all over the cot. They were dated, every last one of them. Letters. Bellatrix began to cry as she realised there was one for each day.

Suddenly a Dementor appeared very near outside her window, and she felt its pull through the gap. She shook her head, shutting her eyes. Sparkling gold mixed with hunter green. Gratitude. She pushed the strong emotion away. She felt something else, too. Crimson love. Adoration. Cerulean blue. Longing. She pushed the emotions away, one by one, until she had replaced them all with the idea of sitting in an empty boat on a motionless sea that reflected every star that had ever been. She opened her eyes and saw that the Dementor had moved away, off to feed on someone else's sensations. Bellatrix cleared her throat and looked for the earliest letter, dated in February, ten days after she'd come to Azkaban. She opened the envelope and pulled out the letter, and she read,

_Dear Bellatrix, I know that you are not permitted to receive letters, so I suppose these will be more like diary entries. I had a diary, once upon a time, but I had to stop using it. It's complicated._

**Author's Note: Oh, my, oh, my. Talk about the law of unintended consequences. Dumbledore definitely meant to stop Lord Voldemort in his tracks. Instead, he killed any vestige of decency left in the man and set the First Wizarding War into motion. And as for Bellatrix? Say goodbye to that last scrap of naïveté. She's a warrior now. So, we're about three and a half months into her six month sentence. What happens when she's released and these two are reunited? Hmm…**

**Thank you so incredibly much for the feedback on the last few emotional chapters. The encouragement has meant more than I can say.**


	37. Together

Bellatrix whirled and whirled, feeling stronger than ever. Dancing without shoes, without a barre, had taken her thin body and honed it into a sinewy, powerful machine. The ball of her foot slapped the concrete ground as she spotted the Dementor out the window, daring it to try and feed off any emotion.

_Good luck_ , she thought with a bitter laugh. In her mind, it would see a corridor that went on forever until at last it reached a candle. It would find a sea that never reached a horizon, a sky through which you fell forever.

"Bellatrix Black?"

She froze.

Trembling a bit, from cold or surprise, she turned back to see that her door had been pushed open, and a plump, auburn-haired witch stood in the threshold.

"Bellatrix Black," said the witch matter-of-factly, "Your sentence has ended. You are to come with me."

Before they left the prison cell, Bellatrix asked to use the privy one last time, saying that she'd had no idea she was about to leave and urgently needed to urinate. She then dropped every letter she'd received from Lord Voldemort down the hole in the ground, unwilling to let anyone else find and read them. He would understand, she thought. Better that the parchment dissolve in a mess of excrement than be found and read by Aurors. So she bid the letters farewell and thanked them for their company, then smirked out the window at the Dementor hovering there, and she left the cell behind without another glance.

Down the triangular stairs they went - down, down, down. There were only two Aurors this time, neither of whom Bellatrix recognised. Neither of them was Blaine, for apparently Voldemort had killed her off. That thought made Bellatrix very happy. Lots of people would get killed off now.

Dumbledore had had no idea what he'd been doing.

Bellatrix relished the rush of wind upon her body when she followed the Aurors out of the prison onto the rocky island surface. Wind hadn't rushed through her window quite like this. The light around her, though cloudy and grey, seemed almost blinding. She breathed in, feeling the freshness of the storm, and she whispered,

"It does not smell of death out here."

"What's that, girl?" barked the male Auror, and Bellatrix shook her head.

"Nothing."

"We're taking you to Inmate Processing at the Ministry," the auburn-haired witch told her. "Let's go."

They each took hold of one of Bellatrix's wrists, and then the wizard grabbed a large Ministry Portkey cube waiting on the rocky ground. Bellatrix grinned as they pinched and whirled through the darkness for a moment, and when they landed, she looked around and realised they were in a corridor of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. They were near Mrs Stevens' office, she thought. She blinked, thinking how odd it was to be inside a building that was not cold and filthy.

"Is that Bellatrix Black you've got there, Norwood?" asked a voice, and Bellatrix turned to see the bored-looking witch at the information desk she remembered from her days coming here with Voldemort. Norwood, the auburn-haired female Auror, nodded and said,

"I'm taking her to Inmate Discharge Processing. Have you got her Probation Packet?"

"Yes. Right here." The information witch handed over a leather folder, which Norwood accepted. The wizard walked away then, and Norwood led Bellatrix down a narrow, dark corridor, leading her through a black doorway marked  _Inmate Discharge Processing Room One._

Bellatrix recognised her black velvet dress hanging on the wall inside the square room, and she raised her eyebrows. She hadn't seen that dress, nor any clothing other than her scratchy inmate uniform, in six months' time. She stepped into the room, and Norwood shut the door.

"Please step into the centre of the room and strip off your prison uniform," she said clinically. Bellatrix did. She felt no shame anymore. What did nudity mean, after months of emptiness? She stood naked and filthy in the middle of the room, and Norwood aimed her wand at Bellatrix, crinkling her nose a little. Bellatrix didn't blame her; she reckoned she probably reeked like a corpse herself at this point. Norwood began murmuring many spells that Bellatrix remembered, though it had been so very long since she'd heard or performed magic. Scouring spells - so many Scouring spells. Anti-nit charms, flea-killing spells, dentistry spells to fill cavities and and repair tooth rot. Some kind of spell Bellatrix wished she'd known in her youth, for it seemed to detangle her curls and transform them into neater ringlets.

She glanced in the mirror on the wall and was impressed. She peeled back her lips and saw white, straight teeth. She was thin - too thin, entirely too thin - and her skin was sallow, but at least she was clean, and her hair was presentable.

"Well, thanks very much, Norwood," Bellatrix said, giving the Auror a sarcastic half smile. Norwood did not smile back.

"You may dress in the clothes that were confiscated upon your intake." She gestured to the undergarments, which seemed clean, and the black velvet dress and boots near the wall. Bellatrix dressed, though the actions seemed foreign and took some effort. Putting a bra on was something she barely remembered doing, and her skinny fingers fumbled with the clasp. Tying up her boots and buttoning the dress was hard, too. Perhaps, she thought, it was because she hadn't done much with her fingers for the last six months. Well. That wasn't strictly true, she thought with a smirk. She'd touched herself sometimes, when she'd read his letters.

She stood, fully dressed, and she sat at the little desk along the wall when Norwood prompted her to do so. This felt strange, too. Sitting in a chair was odd. The seat felt bizarrely hard beneath her bottom. She squirmed a little just to feel it. Norwood opened the leather folder she'd been given, and she said sternly,

"You are being released on your own recognizance. Have you any place to go to?"

"I'll figure something out." Bellatrix shrugged, thinking that if she could just manage to get to Wiltshire, she'd be just fine. Norwood pulled out a little velvet bag and put it on the desk, and she said,

"This is Ministry standard for all inmates released without wands. Since you will essentially be living as a Squib, you will, more or less, need to learn to live as an underage witch who's completely independent. So the Ministry gives you twenty Galleons to start your new life."

"How very generous." Bellatrix took the bag of coins and tied it onto the belt of her velvet dress, onto the place near her empty wand holster. She remembered that Voldemort had a new wand waiting for her. So much for living as a Squib.

"The terms of your probation require that you meet with your probation officer once every three months to ensure that you are living an upstanding, honest life. Should you fail to arrive at your probation meetings, you will be considered a fugitive of the law and will be sentenced back into Azkaban," Norwood said. "Your probation officer is Angus Robertson."

Bellatrix scoffed. "Any relation to Hamish Robertson?"

"His father," Norwood scowled. "Why?"

"No reason," Bellatrix said lightly. "Don't worry; I'll be nice and upstanding and shall be at all of my meetings. When's the first one?"

Norwood studied the parchment. "The tenth of November. Nine in the morning."

"I'll be there. Anything else?" Bellatrix was anxious to try and figure out some way to get to Wiltshire. The Knight Bus, maybe?

Norwood drummed her fingers on the desk and said very firmly. "Stay away from the man who calls himself Lord Voldemort."

Bellatrix tried to keep her face steady, and she nodded. "Mmm-hmm."

"You are free to go," Norwood shrugged, "Unless you have any questions."

"I do not." Bellatrix rose and walked briskly out of the discharge room, passing the information witch with the elegant, long steps of a dancer. She walked out toward the lift bank, and there she found a wizard standing with his hands in the pockets of his robes, seeming as though he were waiting for someone.

"Oh. Hello, Mr Avery." Bellatrix nodded at the balding, bespectacled man she'd known since she'd been a child. He smiled a little at her and looked around, lowering his voice as he said softly,

"Miss Black. I've come to take you to Malfoy Manor."

* * *

_BELLATRIX BLACK RELEASED FROM AZKABAN!_

_Notorious underage torturess Bellatrix Black was released today from Azkaban Prison today after serving a six-month sentence. Her case gained infamy after Miss Black shocked the wizarding community by utilising an Unforgivable at the tender age of sixteen. She tortured a fellow pupil in a corridor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Initially, Miss Black was sentenced to a unique, unconventional house arrest situation, which was questioned by a formal complaint issued by Albus Dumbledore. The judicial panel assigned to the case, which included Dumbledore himself, found the house arrest unsuitable and sentenced Miss Black to -_

"My Lord?"

Voldemort looked up from his copy of  _The Daily Prophet._  He set the newspaper down and saw Abraxas Malfoy standing in the doorway of his office.

"She's here, Master."

Voldemort felt like he was going to vomit or cry, or perhaps both. For six months, he had waited for this moment, and now that it was here, he felt like his mind was floating somewhere far outside his body. He nodded and murmured,

"Bring her in, then leave and shut the door. I am not to be disturbed."

"Yes, Master," Abraxas grinned. Voldemort stood, straightening his glasses, looking in the mirror on the wall. Did he look so very different, after all? His hair was a little more sparse, a little more grey, but it wasn't so bad. He needed his glasses most of the time now, but that was not at all unusual for a wizard in his forties. He was a little more wrinkled, but stress over six months would do that to a man his age. She would probably look worn, too. They were probably both worse off. It didn't much matter, he thought.

"Master."

He snapped his head to see Bellatrix walking in, the door shutting behind her. She was wearing the same black velvet dress he'd buttoned up in their bedroom the day they'd testified, they day they'd dragged her away from him. It hung off her now, for she'd lost a considerable amount of weight in prison. But her hair was clean and neat, and they'd Scoured her in discharge. Voldemort approached her slowly, and when she smiled at him, his chest ached so badly he thought he must be having a heart attack.

"Bellatrix," he whispered.

"I got your letters," she nodded. Then she laughed a little and shrugged. "All one hundred and sixty-eight of them. I had to dump them down the privy before I left. Sorry."

"Oh." He shook his head and said in a wisp of a voice, "I have… I've got fourteen more of them that I never got to send. You can read them later, if you'd like."

He was standing right above her now, and as she stared up at him, he asked her quietly,

"Did they feed on you in there, Bellatrix? Did those Dementors dine on your emotion?"

"No." She shook her head and insisted, "No. I did not let that happen. I gave them nothing. I fed them stars upon stars, Master, just like you bade me."

"Good girl." His eyes burned as he took her face in his hands. He kissed her forehead, afraid to do more. He reached into his robes and pulled something out, something he'd been waiting for months to give her. It was the wand Gregorovitch had made for her, an almost exact replica of the wand she'd gotten as a child, the one they'd snapped and burned and Vanished. Bellatrix grinned as she took it, and when she did, there was a brief rush of wind that blew her curls back. Light from some unseen source illuminated her milky white, sunken face. Bellatrix gave a crooked smile, aimed the wand at the bookshelf beside Voldemort, and snarled,

" _Expulso!"_

He winced and grinned as some of the books were destroyed in a mighty explosion. Bellatrix tucked her new wand into her wand holster and nodded as pages fluttered down around Voldemort, raining down Bellatrix's power after months of it being suppressed.

"Thank you, Master," she whispered, her dark eyes shining with more life than ever. Voldemort's breath quickened. They had not killed an ounce of her in there. Somehow, they had breathed new energy into her.

"I have more followers than before," he informed her. "Everyone knows my name; they are beginning to look around in fear before they speak it. Dumbledore wrote a column last month warning of my 'rise.' He compares me to Grindelwald. I have killed, Bellatrix… so many have died at my hand in your absence. And I must give you something."

He cradled her left arm in his left hand then, carefully pulling back the sleeve of her velvet dress. She gasped, realising what he was going to do, and when he touched his wand to her flesh, she let out a happy little sound that made his stomach flop. He smiled at her, meeting his eyes, and he murmured,

" _Morsmordre._ "

He watched as the Dark Mark etched itself into her skin, a black tattoo of a skull and serpent, and as it faded to a dormant burgundy, then pink, he kissed her cheek and told her,

"You are my finest Death Eater."

"Master." She put her hands on his cheeks, not seeming to mind his glasses or his greyed hair. She smiled up at him, seeming very emotional, and she nodded as she informed him, "I worked very hard on battle dancing in there. I worked very hard on Occlumency, on overcoming all emotion. I read your letters dozens of times each. I am more devoted to you now than ever. I am more ready to be your soldier now than ever."

"And do you love me still?" Voldemort asked, covering her hands with his. Bellatrix's furious, metallic shell seemed to crack just a little, and her humanity showed through a bit as she murmured,

"I am so ferociously in love with you. I dreamed of you. I touched myself. I danced for you. I dreamed of you."

"Bella." He started to push her toward his desk, and her fingers cinched on his cheeks. He suddenly remembered, months earlier, buttoning up this dress because her fingers were shaking fiercely and she was terrified. He had not touched her in six months. He had last seen her when they'd dragged her away in chains. He kissed her now, pushing her up onto his desk, shoving up her skirts, wrenching down her knickers, and her lips fell open.

"Mmph." His tongue felt very clumsy, like he'd forgotten what a kiss was. After a moment, he found a rhythm inside her mouth. She was very forgiving, helping him with her own tongue, twining it with his. She bravely suckled on his bottom lip, and he noticed that her own lips were quite chapped. It must have been cold in Azkaban, he thought. She'd been in a very harsh environment. She had not yet complained once about Azkaban. How very brave she was, he thought. What a warrior she was.

"Bellatrix." He slid his fingers up the inside of her thigh and felt how thin she was, how tight her muscles had become. Clearly, she had indeed spent many hours dancing. Her body had become disciplined, just like her mind. He needed to kiss her neck, he thought suddenly, and he shoved her face aside with his as he roughly pushed his lips and teeth onto the skin there. Once upon a time, he would have described the skin on her neck as 'delicate,' but now she felt muscled and taut there. She was intense beneath his mouth, he thought. He could be more aggressive now, so he was. He nibbled - no, he  _bit_  - and he sucked so hard that Bellatrix hissed. She liked it. He could tell.

He flushed hard inside his robes. He'd touched himself almost every day whilst she'd been gone, and he'd thought of her every single time. Sometimes, he'd had memories of her as he'd stroked himself to completion. Sometimes, he'd imagined her in Azkaban, or what she'd be like when she got out. Sometimes, he just saw her face. Now, he was harder than ever, so hard that the throbbing hurt, and he reached desperately into his robes and fumbled with his linen trousers as he murmured against Bellatrix's neck,

"You'll need a contraceptive spell."

"Yes," she whispered back, and he pulled his own wand out, brushing it along her lower abdomen, muttering a month-long contraceptive charm. This was his wife. His  _wife,_  of whom he'd been deprived for far too long. He was a married man, though he had not felt like it for some months now. He'd touched the ribbon that had bound them, over and over, wishing her goodnight, but it wasn't the same as this, as kissing and touching her. She was so beautiful. She'd grown steely, but somehow she was still soft to him. She was too much. He was about to spill himself, he realised.

He stumbled backward, feeling profoundly dizzy, and muttered,

"Bella, it's not going to last a minute. I can't…"

"Master."

He raised his eyes, feeling fluid on the thumb that grazed over his tip, and she smiled warmly at him. She beckoned to him, spreading her thighs and pulling her skirts up a bit more, revealing her pink womanhood to him, and she shrugged.

"Don't you remember what you told me on my seventeenth birthday, Master? There's this time, and the next time and the next… and the next. So if it goes a little faster than you'd hoped…"

"Bella." He approached her quickly then, unable to hold back anymore, and when he neared, she snared her arms and legs around him, and he thrust himself into her in one fluid drive. He gasped, burying himself to the hilt and feeling his heart flutter so rapidly he thought he'd keel over. Bellatrix's mouth dropped open, and her bottom lip shook a little, and he started to pump himself into her, slowly at first. She was snug and  _so very tight_ around him, and she whispered,

"Fiery scarlet red. Desire."

He nodded and confirmed, "A deeper ruby red… I like it."

He smiled crookedly at her, and she laughed a little. Neither of them made any effort to conceal those emotions; this was not the time for blankness. Bellatrix's eyes fluttered as Voldemort bucked his hips quickly, knowing he had only a few moments. He reached to play with her clit, desperate to bring her pleasure, and he kissed her hard. She squealed, and he knew that she was as aroused as he was. Her legs squeezed just beneath his ribs, and after a few moments, he felt subtle little squeezes of satisfaction around his cock. She was coming, even if just a little, and that drove him over the edge.

"Master," she moaned, pulling her mouth off of his. "Master…"

He tipped his head back a little, letting his hand drop from between them, feeling everything detonate. His come pumped up between them, filling her, and he realised he'd been fantasising about doing  _this_  to her body for six long months. Filling her with his seed… he'd wanted to do it for so long now. He shut his eyes, then opened them again, needing to look at her. She was so thin, he thought. She needed food.

"Pistachio ice cream," he whispered, still coming down from his high. She laughed a little as his cock softened, bringing a stream of come with it as he pulled from her. She shrugged.

"What?"

"I'm going to send Abraxas to Florean Fortescue's. I'm too… well-known… to go to Diagon Alley these days," he said. "But you need… ice cream. You're thin. You need pistachio ice cream."

Her eyes welled very heavily then. Suddenly she didn't look like she was made of metal at all. She looked like a seventeen-year-old girl who had spent months in prison. She started crying; she started shaking where she sat on his desk. She buried her fists in her eye sockets and trembled. Voldemort aimed his wand between her legs and silently cleaned her up. He drew her knickers up and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against her chest and just letting her cry. He thought, for some reason, that perhaps she had not cried in six months. That seemed likely, that she would have gone her entire sentence without letting herself cry. Well, if the thought of ice cream made her cry now, that was fine. He just held her and let her shake and sob until she went still and he knew that she'd drifted off to sleep. Small wonder, he thought; she was probably literally exhausted. He cradled her in his arms, deciding to move her up to their suite. Let her wake in their bed, he thought, curled up against his chest. They both needed it.

**Author's Note: Yay! Reunited and it feels so good. Now to see these two in action, unburdened by rules they refuse to follow. Mwah hahaha… Thank you again so much for the recent feedback, which has been so encouraging and so appreciated.**


	38. Deserving

When Bellatrix blinked her eyes open, it was into a dream. Surely, she was dreaming. His skin was warm and soft beneath her cheek - the bare chest she remembered so well. His fingers were twined in her hair, and when she looked up at him, he needed a shave. Did he still have the shaving kit she'd given him last Christmas, she wondered?

His eyes opened slowly, and his right hand reached for the folded pair of black glasses on the bedside table. He pulled them on and sighed, and his lips curled up a little as he eyed the clock.

"Hmm," he hummed. "We've both slept marvelously, haven't we? It's eight."

Bellatrix said nothing. She just stared. The bed seemed oddly plush beneath her, so much softer than the lumpy little cot in Azkaban had felt. Finally she pushed herself up to kneel, and when she looked down, she noted,

"I'm in a nightgown. How did you get me into a nightgown without waking me?"

"I may have given you a few drops of Draught of Peace to keep you sedate," Voldemort admitted from where he lay. "I thought you deserved it."

"Thank you." Bellatrix felt very emotional then. Why was she feeling so emotional? Perhaps, she thought, it was because she'd had to be so very stoic for six months to stave off the Dementors. She blinked away the tears that wanted to form in her eyes, shoving away the sensation of crying, and she asked Voldemort,

"Do they know? Any of the others? Do they know that we're married?"

"No." Voldemort shook his head and said, "I did not think it wise for your safety that they know. I still do not think it's wise to tell anyone. It'll only put a massive target on you. If the other side knows that I hold you so dear, they'll clamour to capture you, to drag me into a fight I'm not ready to wage. I'm sorry. It has to stay secret."

"I understand, Master," Bellatrix nodded, and she did. He reached up and dragged his knuckles along her emaciated jaw, and he told her,

"You're a little colder now, but I like it."

She smiled down at him and nodded. "I see what you mean about yourself. Going from stone to steel. It is subtle, but I see. When can I kill him? McLaggen?"

"A few weeks." Voldemort had clearly thought about the matter; his answer came immediately. "If you do it at once, they'll know it was you, and they'll hunt you down and throw you straight back into prison. My plan is to send a squad to intercept him on his way to King's Cross; he and his father go every year. Mulciber, Nott, and Avery will be there with their own children. Avery and Nott will send their boys on through Platform 9 ¾ with Mulciber. They'll Confound McLaggen's father into thinking he's taken Jamie through. They'll kidnap Jamie and bring him here."

"So, it'll be as though Jamie's just disappeared on his way to school," Bellatrix nodded, and Voldemort confirmed,

"Precisely. Once Jamie's here, he'll be put in the dungeons, and you can have your way with him. Anything you want to do. He'll be yours. A welcome home gift."

Bellatrix felt her heart race inside her chest, and she grinned, feeling like a madwoman. She bent down and kissed Voldemort's bare chest, the place where his greying hair lay sparse over his sternum. She lay her head down then, and he asked her seriously,

"Do I look like an old man to you?"

"No. Do I look like a skinny wretch to you?" she asked.

"No," he answered. "You look like a terrifyingly ready soldier, a witch who's used her time behind bars very wisely indeed. I am  _very_ glad you are on my side."

She smiled up at him then and felt an urgent need to ride him. She straddled him slowly, and as she did, he sucked in breath hard and whispered,

"Merlin's beard, I've missed this."

"Master," Bellatrix said, "I think I need to make love to you every few hours or so for awhile. Is that all right?"

He grinned, adjusting his glasses on his face, and he nodded. "Oh, yes. That's just fine."

* * *

"Enter."

Voldemort looked up from the newspaper, which was so dull today it was putting him to sleep in combination with the patter of rain from outside. The door to his office opened, and Abraxas Malfoy came sauntering in. He held up a leather folio and shut the door, and he said rather playfully,

"Master, I must confess that all of this party planning is making me feel awfully womanly."

"Well, I'd have Aeta do it, but she and I are not exactly on good terms these days, and she doesn't much like coming here, anyway," Voldemort clipped. "Sit."

Abraxas sat and sighed, folding one leg over the other. His icy blond hair had grown out enough that he now wore it in a little braid down the back, which Voldemort thought looked rather silly. He narrowed his eyes and said,

"Do something else with your hair if you don't want to look like a woman. It isn't the 18th century, Malfoy."

"Oh. Yes, Master." Abraxas pulled at the ribbon binding his queue and looked embarrassed. He cleared his throat and raked his fingers through his hair, opening the leather folio. He said rather nervously,

"For security reasons, only the members of you innermost circle have been invited, Master. The guest list currently stands at sixty-two. I have included her parents, though if you and Cygnus are not…"

"He has disowned Andromeda," Voldemort confirmed, "because the girl has started formally dating the Mudblood Ted Tonks. Sad that it took such a dramatic step, and not merely issuing testimony against Bellatrix. In any case. Cygnus may attend. They won't have seen her before then, anyway. So… sixty-two. That's still rather a lot. That'll be good. Be sure there's enough cake."

"Yes, and I did speak with Dobby about the cake," Abraxas said. "He's going to bring in three other House-Elves from the Black, Rosier, and Yaxley homes to help. The cake will be rosewater vanilla, Master. The cake will be four tiers - lots of extra - and will be the centrepiece of the ballroom. There will be a buffet table with bacon-wrapped brussels sprouts, sausage-stuffed mushrooms, a cheese plate, cold vegetables, and pickled tomato relish on toast. Then there will be a drinks table with Butterbeer, firewhisky, and rhubarb-fennel gin cocktails."

"That all sounds splendid," Voldemort said honestly. Then, in a teasing voice, he added, "I think you're a marvelous party planner, Abraxas."

Malfoy's cheeks pinked and he shook his head, turning the page in his folio.

"There will be a Champagne toast, in which you will wish Miss Black a very happy eighteenth birthday, and she will blow out the candles on her cake. We may need a step stool for that, owing to her petite stature."

"Are you calling her short?" Voldemort asked gravely, and Abraxas looked mildly terrified. Voldemort laughed and said, as if it were obvious, "I'm joking."

"Oh." Abraxas breathed a sigh of relief, and Voldemort realised he probably hadn't been very funny for the last six months. He cleared his throat and said,

"Right. A step stool. Yes, she'll need one for the candles. And then there will be dancing. I shall give her my gift in private. You can set up a table in the ballroom in case any of the other guests bring gifts for her."

"Very good, Master," Abraxas nodded. "Anything else?"

"No. That will be all. Thank you." Voldemort watched Malfoy go, and he turned his chair to stare out the window at the softly falling rain.

He had a vision, suddenly - a memory. He remembered Bellatrix hopping around the frozen gardens, her hair in pigtail braids, her boots crunching on the ground as she giggled like mad and cast little explosions around Voldemort with his own wand. Then she'd come up to him and breathlessly confessed that she was ready to marry him. She had seemed like such a child then, innocent despite the crime she'd committed.

She had not seemed like a child this morning, when she'd been kneeling in the shower, his cock buried down her throat, her voice echoing off the tiles. She had not seemed like a child when she'd whispered into his ear the night before that there were only thirteen days until she got to begin work on Jamie McLaggen. She had seemed anything but innocent when she'd leaned against the bathroom door, watching him shave, wearing knickers and nothing else, smirking at him, holding the wand he'd had made whilst she'd been in prison. She had not seemed innocent when, this morning at breakfast, she'd described mocking the Dementors whilst dancing  _Starlina_  in her cell, pushing emotion away whilst reading his letters.

Voldemort shivered where he sat. Yes, he thought. She deserved Jamie McLaggen. She deserved to do anything and everything she wanted to that boy. And she deserved a grand birthday party, too. She deserved every last thing Voldemort could give her.

**Author's Note: Who's ready to see Bellatrix get her paws on Jamie McLaggen? Woo hoo! Let's do this!**


	39. Bleak

Voldemort found her staring out the window in the library, gazing out at the gardens with their brand-new hedges and bushes. He stepped up beside her and covered her hand with his, and he said softly,

"They'll be here soon. The train leaves at eleven. It's half past ten."

Bellatrix curled her lips up and kept staring out the window. She had been looking forward to this day for a very long while. Voldemort cleared his throat gently and asked,

"Did you eat breakfast this morning? You'll need energy."

"I do not suppose I shall ever eat apples or porridge again," Bellatrix said with a sad little smile. She turned to Voldemort and sighed. "I had a fried egg, a sausage, and some grilled tomato, Master. I feel fine."

He nodded, and he dragged his fingertips up her bared forearm. She had become so strong in prison, inside and out. He reached into his pocket then and pulled out her key necklace, and he told her,

"I think it is time you wore this again. I have borrowed it for far too long."

She bowed her head as he reached beneath her tightly braided hair to clasp the chain. She shut her eyes and breathed quickly as she touched at the key, and she whispered,

"Thank you, Master."

She just stood there for a moment, holding onto the key. She flicked at the compass dial then and opened her eyes, and when the dial landed pointing at Voldemort, she looked up and said,

"Many times, in Azkaban, I wished for this compass. I had no sense of direction. I wondered where you were from where I was. I didn't know which way to look for you. So I just shut my eyes and found you there."

"Bella." Voldemort felt his own eyes burn a little, and he cupped her face in his hand as he assured her, "I am with you now."

She nodded, looking profoundly happy. He cleared his throat a bit and reminded Bellatrix,

"Many months ago, you spelled out for me what you wanted to do to Jamie McLaggen."

"I remember," Bellatrix smiled, and he said,

"The first bit necessitated my presence. Does it still?"

She looked back out the window and murmured, "I wouldn't ask that of you."

Voldemort shrugged and choked out a little laugh. "I won't lie and say I wasn't looking forward to it just a little."

"Really?" Bellatrix grinned then, flicking her eyes back to him. She sighed. "Oh. If I could make this first day perfect, I'd give him a good long bout with the Cruciatus, broken up into bits where I explain to him why it's all happening. Then I'd finish it off by having you claim me in front of him to show him that he was wrong about no one wanting me. That would be so perfect."

She seemed so very excited at that prospect, her angled cheekbones going pink, and Voldemort felt a flush of pleasure at the sight of her like that. He nodded and told her,

"I would like, if you wouldn't mind, to come down to the dungeons with you and watch you… and then help you show that boy how very wanted you are. Will you allow me to do that, Bellatrix?"

"Yes, Master." She shut her eyes, seeming very glad. She took his hand in hers, squeezed hard, and nodded again. "Yes."

* * *

"Well. Jamie McLaggen. Long time, no see." Bellatrix walked down the stone steps into the dungeons toe first, moving like a dancer did. Her boots scraped on the damp floor when she got downstairs, and in the light of the torches on the wall, she could see Jamie McLaggen sitting against the far wall.

He was a tall, broad-shouldered boy with wavy blond hair and a handsome face, and he had his school robes on, for today he'd been meant to begin his seventh year at Hogwarts. His face looked utterly terrified, and the chains that bound each wrist to the stone wall clanked as he shifted where he sat.

"Bellatrix," he said, and Bellatrix adjusted her grip on her wand. Jamie's eyes flicked there, and she knew what he was thinking.

"How on Earth did Bleak and Bloody Bellatrix, newly released from Azkaban, get a wand?" she mused playfully. She heard Voldemort's boots behind her, and she glanced to see him lean casually against a brick pillar. Bellatrix continued to Jamie, "Bleak and Bloody Bellatrix, as it turns out, has some powerful friends. Yes, Jamie. Friends. You never thought I'd make a friend, did you?"

"I was wrong to tease you, Bellatrix," Jamie tried, but Bellatrix laughed and shook her head. She rolled her eyes and asked Jamie,

"What certificate did you spend all that time making up for me, Jamie?"

Jamie said nothing, so Bellatrix snapped her wand toward him and barked out a Stinging Hex. Jamie cried out in pain as welts and hives broke out all over him. His face swelled up a little, but not badly enough that he couldn't speak, so Bellatrix demanded again,

"Jamie, what certificate did you make for me?"

" _M-Most Likely to be Administered the Dementor's Kiss in Azkaban,_ " Jamie finally admitted. Bellatrix turned around and asked Voldemort in a flirtatious voice,

"Was I administered the Dementor's Kiss in Azkaban, My Lord?"

"No," Voldemort replied where he leaned against the column. "No. You were not."

"As it happens, I spent my days mocking the Dementors through the window of my cell," Bellatrix shrugged, looking back at Jamie, who looked like he'd been attacked by bees. "Guess you got the certificate wrong. You got a lot wrong. I went to prison for casting a single spell. What spell was it, Jamie?"

"Bellatrix." Jamie shook his head woefully. "Don't do this…"

"Too slow." Bellatrix aimed her new wand at Jamie McLaggen, feeling her heart race and taking a long, deep breath. " _Crucio!_ "

Vividly red light - angry light - burst from her wand, exploding over Jamie's body. It wrapped around him in a web, and he immediately collapsed to the ground. He began to seize and convulse at once. His shrieking voice echoed off the stone walls of the dungeons. His pain was written on his face, even as the Stinging Hex began to wear off. His handsome features contorted and bent in the red glow of the curse. Bellatrix felt a flush of satisfaction go through her, and then something else. She felt lust toward Voldemort. She wanted him, suddenly, and she glanced over her shoulder to see him smirking at her. She broke off the spell, knowing that she wanted to drag this process out over many days.

"Bellatrix," coughed Jamie, and then he vomited a little onto the floor.

"Disgusting," Bellatrix spat. She waited for Jamie to sit back up, shaking like a leaf, looking grey-faced. He held his hands up, looking completely frightened, and he begged, "Please. Not again. Don't do it again. Please."

"I suppose you were right about one thing," Bellatrix said. "I am dangerous. And you and Harriet and all your other sorry excuses for friends did know that I was dangerous. But you were wrong in thinking that I was undesirable. Sending Hamish Robertson after me as a joke. Mocking me the night of the Valentine's dance. Making up rhymes about me so no one would date me."

"Bellatrix!" Jamie shook his head wildly and then dry heaved again, obviously still wracked with pain from the Cruciatus Curse. Bellatrix narrowed her eyes as Jamie exclaimed. "It was wrong. All of it."

"You're only saying that because you're chained up getting tortured," Bellatrix said dismissively. "I know you, Jamie McLaggen. You could never  _really_ be sorry for what you did to me."

"I am sorry! I promise! I'm sorry!" Jamie McLaggen shouted, and Bellatrix glanced to Voldemort.

"Master? Is he sorry?"

" _Legilimens,"_  Voldemort said lazily. Jamie looked confused, then brought his chained hands up to his head, and after a few moments, Voldemort said, "No. He's not sorry. Just scared."

"See?" Bellatrix shrugged. "Powerful friends.  _Crucio!_ "

Jamie squealed like a pig as his body writhed, yanking on the chains that bound him. His spine twisted awkwardly and his arms wrenched, and he coughed and spluttered. His eyes bugged out and his tongue stuck out as his lips peeled back. It would have been a horrifying sight to anyone else, but to Bellatrix, it was very amusing. She smiled as the red light snaked and warbled around Jamie. His wordless cries reverberated around the dungeons, and finally Bellatrix broke off the torture. She waited for him to lie silently on the ground, panting, his fingernails scratching at the concrete as he began to sob.

"Bellatrix," Jamie cried. "I was wrong. I was terrible to you. I see that now."

Bellatrix moved to crouch in front of Jamie. She tipped his chin up and saw tears streaming down his handsome face, the face that Harriet had probably stroked in the Gryffindor Common Room. Bellatrix dragged her fingernails down Jamie's cheek, spreading dirt from the dungeon floor there, and she whispered,

"You told me, in so many ways, time and time and time again, that no one would ever want me. You did every single thing in your power, Jamie McLaggen, to try and make me very certain that no one would want me."

"Bellatrix," Jamie moaned, "I am -"

"Shh…" Bellatrix shook her head. "It's my turn now. I have some news for you. A wedding announcement. I've been married, you see, to a great man, for many months now."

She looked over her shoulder, and she saw Voldemort rolling up the sleeves of the white dress shirt he wore. She smirked, her smile growing when she saw the bulge in his trousers. She looked back at Jamie and pushed his blond waves off his forehead, and she murmured,

"Yes. You mocked me at a stupid children's school, but Lord Voldemort made me his wife. Watch how he wants me.  _Watch_ , Jamie."

She rose and stalked over to the column where Voldemort was waiting. She had no knickers on beneath her skirt; she wanted to preserve her own dignity here. So she stood against the column, and Jamie McLaggen stared at them, wide-eyed with dirt and tears on his face, shaking from pain and cold and surprise. Bellatrix wrapped her arms around Voldemort's shoulders, and he bent to kiss her.

He was careful at first, delicate and slow. But then he deepened his kiss, and Bellatrix moaned against him. She pushed her tongue up into his mouth, and he sucked so hard on it that she yelped. He pulled her skirt up, concealing the parts that needed to stay private to them, and he whispered against her,

"Legs up around me, beautiful creature."

"Mmph." Bellatrix lifted her legs and felt him hold her thighs, and he used his body weight to pin her to the column. He reached between them and fumbled just a little to pull out his cock, and Bellatrix felt his tip at her entrance. She gasped as he pushed in, and when he started to thrust, he told her, loudly enough for McLaggen to hear,

"I love you. I love you, Bella."

"Master." She drove her head back against the brick column, and he kissed her neck as he pumped his hips. She gasped every time his tip slammed her cervix, for although this position was a physical challenge, it was immensely stimulating. She was being rubbed in all the right ways, and she'd just tortured the boy who had spent years making her miserable. She stared over at Jamie for a moment, then up at Voldemort, whose eyes were glassy with pleasure, and she came hard. She felt her lips shake as she did, and then she felt Voldemort kissing her through it. She gasped as he shoved her roughly against the column a few times, and as he grunted, she knew that he was finishing inside of her.

After a few long moments, Bellatrix was lowered to the ground, and she felt completely fatigued. She had overexerted herself, she realised. It took more effort to hold the Cruciatus Curse than she'd anticipated, and she was planning on doing it for days. She needed to conserve her energy. She cleared her throat, reaching up for Voldemort's cheek as he tucked himself away.

"Thank you," she whispered, and he nodded as he smiled a bit at her. She felt his seed running down the inside of her thigh as she stalked over to stand above Jamie McLaggen, and she ordered him,

"Put your hand on the ground, Jamie."

"Bellatrix." Jamie stared up at her, looking weary and embarrassed and desperate. "Please. I am so sorry. Please, I was very wrong. Let me go home."

"Put your hand on the ground," she told him again, "or I'll torture you again."

Jamie whimpered a little, but finally brought his hand, which was shackled around the wrist, out onto the concrete floor.

"Tomorrow's newspaper will have your disappearance as headline news," Bellatrix said, "but they will never find you. This place is warded up more tightly than Azkaban. Still, we need to throw them off. Do you know what the story is, Jamie?"

"S-Story?" Jamie asked, and Bellatrix nodded.

"Yes," Bellatrix said. "Your father has had his memory altered, you see, thanks to my brilliant husband. And when the Ministry questions him and searches your home, your father will explain that you tried to Apparate to King's Cross, since you've passed your test. But they'll find four fingers and nothing else. Perhaps, they will speculate, it was a tragic accident. Perhaps you disappeared - a massive, catastrophic Splinching."

"What?" Jamie asked, his voice hoarse with disbelief, but Bellatrix aimed her wand at Jamie's hand and murmured,

" _Diffindo. Cautero._  Master, have you got the box?"

Voldemort came walking over with a small wooden box, and he picked up the bloodied fingers, putting them inside as Jamie shrieked in miserable terror. But he wouldn't bleed out; Bellatrix had quickly cauterised the wounds. Bellatrix informed Jamie over the sounds of his screams,

"You will be given water, gruel, and mealy apples to keep you alive until I am finished with you. I can personally attest that it's enough to sustain a person. Have a good day, Jamie."

As she walked away, Jamie still screaming in pain behind her, Bellatrix held Voldemort's hand and murmured,

" _Bellatrix Black, murdered her dolls, she'll hex off your cock and she'll empty your balls. Bellatrix Black, lovely, depraved, she'll fuck you and kill you and dig you your grave."_

**Author's Note: Whew! So, we now have a Bellatrix who's fully embraced her Darkness and in whom any scrap of naïveté is gone. Will Voldemort's plan to cover their tracks work? (does this memory alteration plan hearken back to Winky and Morfin Gaunt? As well as planting a body part a la Pettigrew? Hmm…) And once Jamie's dead, we have a grand birthday party to attend. What will Cygnus/Druella think of their daughter now? I'm having more fun than ever writing this story, so your continued readership and feedback is really appreciated.**


	40. Applause

"Good morning, Jamie." Bellatrix trotted down the dungeon stairs alone, her boots pattering merrily on the stone floor. She flicked her wand at the sconces on the walls to light them; she'd ordered Dobby to leave Jamie in the pitch black when the House-Elf had delivered the gruel and water at four this morning. Now it was nine, and Jamie was curled up in a ball, trying to stay warm.

"Oh, come on, Jamie. This is nothing," Bellatrix laughed. "Try six months in Azkaban. Sit up."

Jamie sat up very slowly, a puddle of sick in front of him, and he looked worn and weary. He hadn't slept, Bellatrix could tell at once. Good. She stood in front of him and performed a beautiful series of ballet moves to music only she could hear. It was the end of 'Viviana's Decision.' She pulled her feet up  _en pointe,_  which was difficult but not impossible in her boots. She continued up, up through an  _arabesque_  until her left foot was above her head with her arm wrapped behind her knee. She elegantly and mournfully brushed her cheek against her knee, wrapping her right arm around her own ribs, holding herself in an embrace. She shut her eyes, held the pose, and then descended into a low, grateful curtsy. She raised her eyes to a bewildered Jamie McLaggen, and she said,

"When I danced this piece at the talent show, I did a very good job. And so, Jamie, do you know what I expected to hear when I finished dancing?"

Jamie said nothing. Bellatrix stayed in her curtsy, and she whispered,

"Applause. I expected applause, Jamie. Do you know what I heard instead?"

Jamie said nothing. His dirty face shook a little, and his pale eyes welled, and Bellatrix slowly rose as she made the same sounds the crowd had made that day.

" _Booooo. Hiss. Get off the stage! Booo!_ " She laughed, an ugly and malicious cackle, and then she went silent. She crouched down to kneel before Jamie, who looked very frightened and skittered back toward the stone wall. Bellatrix slowly pulled out her wand, and she eyed the bowl of gruel with the browned apple slices and the tin mug of water.

"Why did they boo and laugh, Jamie?" she asked, feigning innocence in her voice. "I danced as well as I could. I thought I did a fine job. Why were they so cruel to me? Did someone put them up to it?"

Still Jamie said nothing. A tear wormed its way down his filthy cheek, and Bellatrix gasped softly.

"Was it you, Jamie?" she whispered. "Did you tell them to boo me? Did you tell them to laugh?"

"I'm sorry." His voice was almost inaudible, but Bellatrix shook her head and reached for Jamie's broad shoulder.

"Silly boy. It's far too late for that."

She held up his hand, examining the place where she'd sliced off his fingers and cauterised the wound, and she said,

"Your father thinks that you Disapparated from your house in Aberdeen and never got to King's Cross. He's very convinced of that. He's so distraught that he's been admitted to St Mungo's to be sedated. Your mother's there, too; she's extremely upset. She was at work when you and your father left. Poor woman. Nothing she could do. Hmm."

"I just want to see them again," Jamie said, his voice hoarse. Bellatrix held up the cup of water to his parched lips, and she commanded him,

"Drink."

Jamie sipped, seeming afraid of the consequences of disobedience. Bellatrix set the mug down, and she cleared her throat as she said,

"You always had such a winning smile, Jamie McLaggen, and you knew it. Strutted around Hogwarts like a damned peacock, didn't you? You flashed those bright white teeth of yours at every witch who passed by, and it was Harriet who won you over. But you don't need glimmering teeth to eat gruel. You can just mop it up with your gums, like an old dog."

"Bellatrix," Jamie said desperately, and Bellatrix sneered,

"You don't need pretty teeth in a dungeon. There's no Harriet here to admire them."

"Bellatrix!" Jamie cried again, and Bellatrix punched his jaw hard with her fist, relishing the sting in her knuckles.

"Stop saying my name, you little cunt," she growled. She stood up and ordered him, "Open wide, Jamie, or you'll get another Cruciatus Curse. Open wide, I said!  _Dentris Evanesca._ "

Jamie shrieked in horror as all of his teeth were Vanished into Non-Being. He pawed helplessly at his gums, his fingers dragging over his empty mouth as he moaned in terror.

"Beh-a-tix!" he cried, but she just laughed and tucked her wand away. She started to back away, clapping her hands, and she said,

"You've done well today, Jamie. Here's your round of applause. See you tomorrow."

* * *

Bellatrix poked her fork at her fresh mozzarella and beetroot. Food like this was entirely too rich for her after months of gruel and apples. She felt a little sick as she tried to put another bite of cheese into her mouth. She set down her fork and cleared her throat, and from across the table, Voldemort said,

"You'll have to finish with McLaggen sooner rather than later. It's been six days; I don't want it lingering. Just in case someone decides to come snooping around. You never know."

"He's not responsive anymore, Master," Bellatrix informed him. "This morning, I was mocking him, and he was just staring up at the ceiling. His hair's gone white, and his eyes are blank. I think his mind's gone. I was thinking of just letting him die of thirst at this point, but that'll smell. I'm not really sure what to do with him now."

Voldemort raised his eyes. His sawed off a bite of cheese and ate it, and he noted,

"You seem mildly upset. Are you not pleased with the process?"

"I am," Bellatrix said. "Just wish he'd lasted longer. He hasn't answered me in two days. His mind was weak."

"Oh." Voldemort smirked. "That isn't surprising, somehow. I can finish him off tonight, if you'd like. Quick Killing Curse, Vanish the body for you. You've been working so hard on him. I worry that casting your first Killing Curse after all that would be too much."

Bellatrix pursed her lips. For some reason, she rather liked the idea of Voldemort being the one to kill Jamie McLaggen. She'd been the one to torture him for days on end. She'd even Vanished his penis and severed his testicles, just like the rhyme about her had said. She'd had sex in front of Jamie; she'd taken his teeth away and cast a dozen Cruciatus Curses upon him. She'd more than had her fun. She'd had her revenge.

"Do it for me, will you, Master?" she asked. "On my behalf? When you kill him, will you do it because of me?"

"Of course." Voldemort set down his knife and fork and promised her, "I shall execute him in your honour."

That was, without a doubt, the most romantic thing Bellatrix had ever heard. She smiled and managed to take a few more bites of dinner after that. She went up to their suite after dinner and drew herself a scalding hot bath, sprinkling dried lavender into the water and settling in for a good long soak. She had her eyes shut and was breathing in the relaxing scent when she heard a few footsteps, and then a voice said,

"It's done. He's gone."

Bellatrix curled her lips up and whispered, "Thank you, Master."

She opened her eyes to see him settling down on the ground beside the bath. He looked very good in glasses, she'd decided, and even better with the silver threads in his hair. She didn't care that she wasn't quite eighteen and he was already greying and balding. He was divinely attractive to her. She huffed a breath and reached for him, the water splashing a little in the white porcelain tub as she did. He'd rolled up his sleeves, so he took her hand, rubbing his thumb over hers, and he murmured,

"I wonder if I might request a recital.  _Starlina_. I hear you've been practising. I haven't seen any good ballet performed in a long while."

Bellatrix grinned at him and nodded. "Shall I dance the solo? Starlina's solo in the nightgown?"

"I would like that," Voldemort nodded. "Tomorrow, perhaps? In your dance studio?"

"Anything for you, Master," she confirmed. "Anything to make you happy."

"Having you home makes me happy," he said very firmly. His eyes looked a little wet then, and he shut them for a moment as he whispered, "a few times, I felt like I was dying. It was confusing."

"But you can't die," Bellatrix said carefully. "Not really."

He knew what she meant. Horcruxes. He flicked his eyes up to her and shook his head a bit. He chewed his lip and said,

"I'm just glad Abraxas kept me from drinking myself into oblivion early on; I would have lost everything at the bottom of a bottle."

"He has been a good friend to you, I think," Bellatrix said. "To us both."

Voldemort tipped his head and admitted, "I should reward him more handsomely, probably."

"And Aeta?" Bellatrix asked cautiously. "In your letters, you did not seem very happy with her."

Voldemort scowled. "Aeta thinks that I have become…  _evil._ "

"Evil," Bellatrix scoffed. She pulled her hand back and sat up a little. "The nerve. How dare she say such a thing as that?"

Voldemort shrugged and laughed a little. "I took it as a compliment. She heard about the Muggle bus, and she called me  _evil._  We really haven't spoken since."

"I thought that was brilliant, what you did with the bus!" Bellatrix exclaimed. Voldemort cupped her cheek, and he said,

"Don't you worry about Aeta or Andromeda or anyone else who gets in our way. You just worry about us."

Bellatrix's eyes welled at that, and she whispered softly, "Us?"

He stared at her for a moment, then took his glasses off and set them aside. "Yes. Us."

Bellatrix blinked a few times, and Voldemort dragged the tip of his middle finger along the surface of her bath water. He mused in a quiet voice,

"I love you so ferociously that it aches in my ribs."

"I'm sorry, Master," Bellatrix whispered. He shook his head and moved his hand to cup her breast gently. He dragged his thumb over her nipple, half-submerged, and he told her,

"You are home, and here to be my soldier and my wife now, and that is all that matters, isn't it?"

Bellatrix nodded. She reached for his head, and he didn't seem to mind that her hand was wet as she pulled the back of his hair toward her. He gladly kissed her, leaning over the bathtub, thrusting his tongue between her lips, dragging it over the roof of her mouth.

"I love you," she whispered, rather frantically. She moved a bit, splashing the lavender-scented water just a little, and his hand tightened at her breast. "I love you, Master."

"Bellatrix," he murmured, and then he commanded her, "Drain this bath. I want you on the bed in one minute."

**Author's Note: All aboard the Bellamort lemon express! Choo choo! Time to see what these two are capable of now that they're both** _ **genuinely**_   **Dark. Mwah hahaha. We also have a little dance recital coming up. Oh, and let's not forget about that birthday party. Raise a glass to Jamie McLaggen, who is no more… onward!**


	41. Feel

"I need it to hurt."

Voldemort wrenched his mouth off of Bellatrix's from where he hovered above her on the bed.

"What do you mean?"

She reached up for his black tie, holding fast, and whispered, "I need to  _feel_  it, Master."

"Oh." He felt a flush of need so profound then that he almost couldn't breathe. On instinct, he sat up on his knees, still clothed in the dress shirt, waistcoat, tie, and trousers he'd had on beneath his billowy outer robe, and he ordered her, "Open your legs."

She obeyed, spreading her bare thighs wide for him. He stared at the pink oyster that lay waiting for him, the womanhood that had been so ignored for six long months in Azkaban. And then he slapped it.

It was all instinct, just like it had been instinct for her to cast that first Cruciatus Curse against Josephine Glass. But this was a much sweeter torture, for Bellatrix writhed in pleasure instead of agony. Her fingers cinched on the dark blanket, and she hissed through clenched teeth, a single syllable, an entreaty for more - " _Yes._ "

He did it again, his fingers slapping her folds, making them grow more damp by the instant. Again and again he hit her, harder each time, until he was winding up and smacking her so hard that he feared he would break her. Still she moaned as if having her vulva beaten was the most wondrous thing in the world, and she arched her back and cried,

"I'm going to come!"

"Do it," he murmured, remembering the times long ago when he'd denied her completion. He would not do so tonight. Not on the day Jamie McLaggen had died, on the day he'd executed the boy for her. Voldemort slapped again, aiming for her clit, rubbing with his fingers as if to soothe her, and that seemed to drive her past the point of no return. Bellatrix thrashed on the bed and came hard, her face flushing scarlet that worked its way down her neck in a web. She clutched at his forearms and muttered words he couldn't quite make out. He shoved his fingers into her, desperate to feel the contractions of her pleasure, and he grunted at the sensation of her walls clamping around him.

Her nipples were so hard they looked like they must ache, and suddenly Voldemort felt a primal need to suckle on them, so he yanked his hand from Bellatrix and moved up to suck most of one of her small breasts into his mouth. She took his head in her hands and panted frantically as he lathed his tongue over her pert nipple, around the goosepimpled flesh he felt there, and she muttered,

"I can hardly breathe."

"Mmph." Voldemort had nothing to say. All he could do was use one hand to roughly massage a breast whilst he sucked hard on the other, and when he changed sides, Bellatrix whispered,

"I need you inside of me, Master. Please, please,  _please_."

"Bellatrix." He moved his mouth to hers, crushing her lips and pushing his tongue past her teeth. She kisssed him back for all she was worth, her little hands moving desperately to undress him. He let her loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt, and he was surprised at how surely her fingers moved. There was no shake in them these days, he thought. She was very certain of herself now. Azkaban had made her confident. She was not afraid of anything, least of all buttons.

He grunted into her mouth when she pushed away his waistcoat, shirt, and tie, and he helped her shove away his trousers and underwear. Then he sat back and used all his physical strength to wrench her over, shoving her onto her stomach and pushing her down hard against the bed until she coughed and spluttered. Then she moaned, seeming to quite like the physical force. Voldemort yanked her hips up until they were at the angle he wanted, and when he lined himself up, he shoved in as hard as he possibly could. He sheathed himself as though stabbing an enemy with a knife, and Bellatrix shrieked a little.

"Quiet," he ordered her, "or I'll gag you with my tie."

"Master," she moaned softly into the pillow, and he stroked her back soothingly with one hand as he started to fuck her with rough bucks of his hips.

"Hush, Bella," he said quietly, thrusting so hard that he could barely breathe. "Quiet now."

"Master." She was being shoved mercilessly, her skull ricocheting off the headboard every now and then, and her hands desperately gripped at the down pillows for purchase. Her skinny little body was no match for the force behind Voldemort's thrusting, and neither was his own stamina. He wasn't going to last like this, but it didn't matter. It felt good. He slapped at her backside a few times, watching the skin go pink, and he told her sincerely,

"I love you, Bellatrix."

The he shut his eyes and went still, the creaking of the mighty four-poster bed coming to a halt, and he felt each pump of his come filling her up. Her breath was loud against the pillow where her face was buried, and every now and then she whimpered softly, but for the most part, the room had gone quiet. Voldemort waited for the white-hot pleasure to fade into a searing crimson, then into a calmer burgundy, and he let himself slide out of her. He didn't bother cleaning them up; he just lay down on his back on the bed and let Bellatrix curl up beside him.

"Sometimes I felt like I was dying," he told her again, just like he'd done before, and she said nothing in response. She just brushed her fingertips over his bare chest and breathed, and that was more than enough.

* * *

She looked like an innocent child in Starlina's gauzy nightgown.

Of course, she was not innocent, and she was not a child. She was a torturess, convicted as such by law and made such by practise. But as Voldemort sat in his chair in her dance studio watching her move, he thought she was the most beautiful creature on Earth, and that was all that mattered.

She still had not noticed. He was wearing something different today, and still she had not noticed. He was waiting for her to notice, but she hadn't. She'd been distracted by putting on her little recital for him. He would wait for her to notice.

He watched her bring one leg into an  _arabesque_  and extend one arm out in front of her, then gesture back toward herself. Starlina was begging her father and lover to come home at this bit of the dance. She was urging them back from the sea. Bellatrix held the  _arabesque_  for what seemed like an eternity. She was so much stronger now, it seemed. Her movements didn't have the little hint of a tremble they'd once had. She was incredibly assured in her dancing now, as though nothing at all could shake her. She still moved with grace, with fluidity, but the underlying iron was almost terrifying.

When she performed Starlina's worried lamentation, kicking her leg up and then kneeling down, touching her fists to her face, he could read the anguish she'd felt in prison. He could feel the months of lonely wretchedness she'd experienced. His eyes watered a little, and he blinked the feeling away, watching her slide her leg back in a perfect half circle and contort her spine back so far that he felt the ache in his own back. She held the pose longer than seemed natural before touching her toe to her head. When her arms curled into a perfect circle, the grace was back, the womanly grace that kept her human, and Voldemort sighed. How did she maintain this balance? How had she kept herself this alive through all those months?

When she rose up again and began to spin, the determination on her face was intimidating. When she ended the dance by curling into a frightened ball on the floor, though, her acting faltered. Starlina was meant to convey real terror here, real fear and dread. But Voldemort could sense that Bellatrix was faking. She could not accurately portray fear anymore. When the solo was complete and she was on her back, she looked elegant and beautiful and perfect, though, and he stood and applauded vigorously. Bellatrix rose, grinned, and curtsied, and then she hurried over to the record played and disconnected it.

"Well?" she asked. "Can I still dance adequately, Master?"

"Better than ever," he said very seriously. "You dance beautifully."

"You've always said that," she reminded him, tipping her head. She walked up to him, taking his hands in hers, and then - finally - she noticed. She studied his left hand, dragging her thumb over his fourth finger, and she asked almost inaudibly, "What is this, Master?"

He smirked. "It's a wedding band. Married men wear them from time to time."

Bellatrix frowned up at him. "You said it had to stay a secret."

He shrugged. "And so it shall. I don't intend on going out in public. I defy any of my Death Eaters to ask me directly about this ring. You won't be wearing anything. It is a simple black tungsten ring; it could mean anything. Rumours. That's all anything would ever be. Besides. If someone wanted to capture you to use you against me… well. I think we've been a little obvious with affections, so…"

"Master." Bellatrix's eyes welled heavily, and she shook her head. "This seems dangerous."

"I promise you that I have thought it through," he told her. "I wish to wear a simple black ring on the fourth finger of my left hand. What that means to anyone else is their problem, not mine. You know what it means, and so do I. That's what counts."

Bellatrix held his hand up to her lips and kissed his knuckles, and she told him quietly,

"Sometimes I would dream of this. I dreamed of dancing for you, of just talking with you. I dreamed of holding your hand. It was you that kept me alive, Master."

"No, Bellatrix," he said, shaking his head and thinking of the steel in her dance. "You kept yourself alive. Let's go get some lunch."

**Author's Note: Awwww, he has a ring. But is that smart? Hmm. Next up? Birthday party! Woo hoo! Thank you so very much for reading and especially for reviewing as we go.**


	42. Viviana

Bellatrix blinked her eyes open, hearing the sounds of 'Viviana's Decision' playing. It was different from the orchestral swell on the record to which she'd danced in the talent show or in her studio. It was a plinking, a tinkling. She stared at the ceiling and listened, and then she tipped her head to the side and saw an open music box on the table beside the bed.

There was an enchanted figurine inside the ornately carved, gilded mahogany box. The figurine was dancing the exact choreography of 'Viviana's Decision,' costumed perfectly in cream-coloured tulle skirts and a peasant bodice. She bent into a perfect  _arabesque_  as the music plinked, and then she spun and spun, tiny and perfect. She was pale, her dark hair pulled back into a bun. Bellatrix smiled a little at her, at the tiny girl who was clearly meant to be her. When she curtsied, the plinking music stopped, and then there was a distant, phantom roar of applause, and the music box slowly shut itself with a click.

"Happy birthday."

Bellatrix pushed herself up to sit, dragging her fingers over her braid, and she smiled at where Voldemort stood in the bedroom doorway, already dressed in midnight blue woolen robes. She pulled herself out of bed and padded over to him, snaking her arms up around his shoulders, and she hummed,

"A little over a month ago, I was languishing in a cell in Azkaban, filthy, waking on a lumpy cot on a concrete floor, trying to keep Dementors away."

"Well. That was then, and this is now. Happy birthday." Voldemort held up a little box, and Bellatrix frowned.

"Another gift, Master? That music box is more than enough!"

He scoffed and shook his head. "Oh, you innocent little child. You have no idea… you'll be getting gifts all day. Open."

She grinned and tore at the silvery paper on the little box, and she sucked in air hard when she peeled open the black velvet box. Inside was a beautiful oval opal, the same green-blue as the ones in her hairpins. It was surrounded by glittering diamonds, and it was on a gorgeous silver chain. Bellatrix smiled up at Voldemort and breathed,

"Master. It's too much."

"You needed something more formal than your key," he shrugged, "and I thought it would complement the pins."

"Well. You were right. Thank you.  _Thank you_." Bellatrix felt her eyes burn like mad, and she pulled the necklace out, trying and failing to put it on.

"Your fingers don't shake much anymore," Voldemort noted in a murmur as he helped her clasp it, and she laughed as she told him,

"You make me feel weak sometimes."

She got dressed into a simple black skirt and blouse and scrubbed her teeth, and she was presented with fried eggs, toast, bacon, beans, and grilled tomato for breakfast. Stuffed to the brim, she went up to the library to read for a while whilst the House-Elves started preparing the ballroom for the party that was to begin at five. Around half past eleven, Bellatrix heard footsteps at the library door, and when she looked up, Voldemort was walking in, looking awfully serious, and he said,

"Come with me to the suite."

Bellatrix set down her book, feeling like she was in trouble for something. She pattered after him, up the stairs and down the corridor, through the door into their sitting room, and she stared in confusion at the two trunks on the ground before her. One was quite large, and another was made of elegant leather but smaller.

"Well," Voldemort said, almost harshly, "Go on. Open the larger one."

Bellatrix felt a little nervous. She knelt down and peeled back the lid of the large trunk. She gasped softly when she saw a stack of black clothes inside. She raised her face up to Voldemort in confusion, and he shrugged.

"I thought you might like a new wardrobe. Start fresh after Azkaban. So I wrote in confidence to Madam Daunting at Twillfit and Tattings. She had your measurements on file, though I told her you'd lost a little weight in prison. I asked her for some more mature clothing, something befitting a grown witch, not a Hogwarts student home on holiday. She sent fifteen outfits, along with more mature night clothes and undergarments. I hope you like it all; you can return anything that does not suit you."

Bellatrix felt profoundly emotional then as she pulled out one piece after another. Green with flecks of gold. Gratitude. Deep red. Love. She pulled out a crushed velvet gown with draped sleeves that laced tightly up the back and was awed by its design. She gushed quietly over the styling of a leather bodice and leather gauntlets meant to go over a woolen tunic and tight leggings. She swiped at her eyes and nodded fiercely.

"These are perfect. It's all perfect. Thank you, Master."

She carefully tucked the clothes back into the trunk, and when she opened the second, smaller one, she found shiny patent black heels, matte leather boots that laced up the front with flat heels, shorter ankle boots with warm flannel lining, and more. She nodded, shut the trunk, and slowly stood. Voldemort smirked at her a little, and he said,

"She made something special for tonight. It's hanging in the bedroom, in your wardrobe. Go see. I hope you'll like it."

Bellatrix's stomach fluttered, and she moved carefully through the sitting room into the bedroom. She pulled open the doors of her wardrobe, and inside, she found a boat-necked gown of watery-looking black silk hanging. She huffed out a breath of amazement and pulled it out, holding it up to admire the incredibly low draped back, the way it moved like liquid, the way it was clearly meant for an adult and not a child.

"You are a grown witch now. Eighteen. And you've served months behind bars for the most heinous of crimes." Suddenly Voldemort was behind her, bending down, his lips brushing her neck as he pulled her hair aside. She gasped, leaning back a little, and he murmured, "Wear that gown for me. Wear your hair pins. Your new opal necklace. Wear your Dark Mark. And I shall wear my wedding band, Bellatrix. Because you are a woman grown, and you are free, and you are my wife, and it is your birthday, and I love you."

She turned then, unable to keep from kissing him for another moment, and she swallowed up any more words he might have spoken.

* * *

"Master, if I may say so, it seems that Madam Black carries herself a bit differently these days," Abraxas Malfoy said, popping a stuffed mushroom into his mouth. Voldemort sipped on his rhubarb-fennel gin cocktail and shrugged.

"You're not imagining things, Abraxas. If Dumbledore meant to punish her or me by throwing her into Azkaban, he made a grave error. All that happened was that he weaponised the both of us. She's more dangerous than ever."

"Your eyes light up when you talk about her like that," Abraxas said softly. He ate a bacon-wrapped brussels sprout and murmured, "I am surprised, My Lord, that you have decided to wear a wedding band."

"No one's asked about it besides you," Voldemort said, sipping again, "and I've had very productive conversations tonight with Yaxley, Avery, Lestrange, Mulciber, Nott, and Crabbe. I'm sure they've all figured it out, anyway. I'd rather they gossip about her being my wife than about her being my whore."

"Fair enough," Abraxas nodded. He glanced over to where Thea Mulciber was standing with her husband, looking very drunk indeed, and he said softly, "Speaking of whores… Thea Mulciber's pregnant."

Voldemort scowled over at where the witch was knocking back a gin cocktail. "If she's pregnant, why is she drinking gin? And how do you know about that, anyway?"

Abraxas' face went white, and he muttered, "Well… she came to me because she couldn't remember dates, Master. It isn't mine. I'm very sure. I've no idea whose it is, but it isn't mine. And I've no idea why she's drinking gin."

"Well, she needs to stop," Voldemort snapped. "It's terrible for the child. We can't have airheaded Purebloods being birthed because their mothers are drunks. For fuck's sake."

He set his drink down and stalked quickly over to where Mulciber was holding his wife up. They were chatting with Bellatrix, Cygnus, and Druella, and when Voldemort walked up, everyone except Bellatrix looked terrified.

"Mrs Mulciber," Voldemort said sharply, "Congratulations on your delicate condition."

"What?" Mulciber looked shocked, and Thea Mulciber giggled a little.

"Oh, no," she said helplessly. "Plot point given away."

"Oh, Thea." Bellatrix shut her eyes, touching her fingers to her forehead. She'd seen Thea sneaking out of Malfoy Manor. She knew that Thea Mulciber was loose. Druella looked scandalised, and Cygnus looked very uncomfortable.

"Mulciber, take your drunk, pregnant wife home and sort out your… affairs," Voldemort said dryly. Mulciber looked utterly humiliated, his face moving from red to purple and back to red. He snatched Thea's arm and dragged her away so roughly that Thea dropped her gin cocktail, and Voldemort whipped out his wand and Vanished the glass before it could hit the floor. He tucked his wand away again in one fluid movement, and Cygnus and Druella stared at him in awe.

"Bella," Voldemort said lightly, "only a few moments until the Champagne toast and your candles. Don't worry; Abraxas arranged for a step stool for you."

"Doesn't she look positively striking this evening, My Lord?" Druella marveled. "I must confess… I thought she'd look horrid after six months in prison."

"Mother." Bellatrix glared at Druella, and Voldemort deadpanned,

"She looks better after six months in prison than most witches would look after six months in Madam Primpernelle's."

Bellatrix snorted a little laugh then, and Cygnus Black seemed very surprised by his daughter's newfound confidence and carriage. A House-Elf Voldemort did not recognise - probably the Rosiers' - came up with a tray full of Champagne flutes, and Voldemort accepted one. After a few moments, he winked at Bellatrix, and she smirked back, and he walked out to the centre of the ballroom, straightening the hem of his tuxedo robes. The ballroom went hush, and Voldemort gave everyone a grateful little look. He held up his Champagne flute a little and glanced about, and he said,

"My friends, I wish to thank you all very kindly for gathering this evening to honour a witch most deserving of celebration. Bellatrix Black is held up by the press as a  _notorious torturess,_ and I confess that, as her master, I am not at all opposed to the label. Neither is she. Are you, Bella?"

"Not anymore, My Lord," she smiled, and her parents looked more surprised than ever. A low, nervous laugh worked its way through the room, and Voldemort sighed as he met Bellatrix's eyes and said more seriously,

"She has fought, and continues to fight, and will fight in the future, in a way no human being has ever fought before. She is a warrior unlike any the world has ever known. She is ferocious from the inside out; the blood that courses through her veins is fierce. And yet, she embodies grace and intelligence. She is beautiful and wickedly wise. She is funny. She is clever. She is a notorious torturess. And today is her birthday. Happy birthday, Bellatrix."

Bellatrix, who stood looking almost impossibly beautiful in her backless, liquid silk gown, smiled warmly. Her hair was coiffed and styled with her opal pins, and her new opal necklace hung round her neck. She looked at once mature and fantastically young as she sipped her Champagne, and as she made her way toward the cake upon which eighteen candles had been lit, she murmured to Voldemort,

"I love you, Master."

"Happy birthday," he replied, squeezing at her hand. He watched her climb up the step stool, and his instinct told him to stay near just in case she tripped in her high heels. He glanced over to see Cygnus Black clutching Druella's hand tightly, both of their eyes welled, and he knew that they could sense their daughter had changed. Gone was the meek, bullied girl who had made trouble for herself. Bellatrix was grown now, and the witch she had become was, perhaps, not at all what Druella or Cygnus had been expecting. Well, that was too bad, Voldemort thought. For his part, he very much liked what Bellatrix had become. He very much liked her steel frame encapsulated by a beautiful human shell.

" _Happy birthday to you,_ " everyone sang, and after Bellatrix blew out her candles and descended the step stool, Voldemort led her out toward the dance floor. He pulled her into a neat two-step, relishing her bare flesh beneath his hand, remembering how obvious they'd been at the Malfoy Christmas party. He didn't care now who knew that she was his. It was as he'd told Abraxas - better someone think her his wife than his whore.

"Did you make a wish?" he asked her as they danced, and she laughed and shook her head.

"How could I possibly wish for anything?" she asked, as if it were a very stupid question. "What more is there to wish for? What, should I wish for the moon to fall out of the sky? I have nothing left to wish for, Master. I just blew out the candles."

He smiled down at her a little and assured her, "You look very pretty."

"Thanks to all my opals and diamonds and the new silk dress," she said, but he shook his head and insisted,

"You're pretty all on your own. You could have come here in the burlap sack they made you wear in prison, and you'd have been pretty. I'll bet you were very pretty in that cell, dancing barefoot, mocking those Dementors."

"Maybe that's why they left me alone," she teased. "They just wanted to ogle me."

He scoffed. "I'm sure you were far better-looking than the other inmates."

"Better-looking than the dead man a few cells over, to be certain," Bellatrix laughed, and then, after a few more dancing steps, her smile faltered, and she shook her head, and her eyes suddenly got very wet. "I don't want to joke about Azkaban anymore, Master."

"Oh. No. Of course not. How stupid of me. I apologise." He felt awful then, like he'd swallowed his own shoe, and he licked his dry bottom lip desperately. "The cake is rosewater vanilla. They're cutting it now; we can get a slice after this dance."

She nodded and smiled, but she looked a little weak, a little tired, and he brushed his thumb over her hand and told her,

"It isn't Abraxas' baby. Thea Mulciber's. I didn't have time to search her mind and find out, but -"

"I don't really care about Thea Mulciber's baby. It'll be addled, anyway." Bellatrix shook her head roughly then, and he could tell that she was shoving emotions away. She was identifying them, pushing them out of her head, and replacing them with blankness. Suddenly she stared up at him, pursing her lips, her eyes wide and determined, and her hands tightened on him. Her features shifted a little, and she smiled, more genuinely this time. "Rosewater vanilla cake was very thoughtful of you, Master. Let's go try it."

He released her, watching her walk with the graceful, confident strides of a dancer toward the other end of the ballroom, marveling at the way she'd trained her mind even against clumsy intrusions like his. He gulped and followed her, shoving his glasses up his face and deciding that he'd be significantly less inept around her in future.

**Author's Note: Raise your hand if you want a guy who spends your whole day giving you a custom music box, expensive custom jewelry, a brand-new wardrobe full of clothes and shoes, and a huge party! Sounds nice, yeah? Even if he's kind of a putz when it comes to talking about your prison sentence. Oh, well. Now, who's in the mood for one of my trademark Bad News Owls? Uh-oh.**


	43. Mine

Bellatrix panted for breath as she whirled frantically to the speedy piano music playing on the record in her dance studio. She spun and spun, spotting her wand at the mirror on the wall, scowling at the invisible enemy. Then she leaped to the side, landing smoothly and rolling as if evading a spell that had been cast at her. She splayed herself flat on her back, making herself as difficult a target as possible for a half second before springing up, spinning and whispering half a curse as she jabbed her wand toward the mirror. She slashed her wand through the air as she ran with pointed steps across the room, leaping gracefully and then landing into an extended  _arabesque,_  her wand still aimed at the mirror. She came up to stand, kicked her foot down to kneel, slashed her wand again, and the piano ended the piece with a flourish.

"Well done. I think you won," said a voice, and Bellatrix grinned up at Voldemort, who had apparently been standing in the doorway for a few moments. He walked slowly over to the record player and pulled the needle off, and as he turned back to Bellatrix, he smiled a little and said,

"You know, you're awfully pretty when you're covered in sweat."

She laughed, feeling a little self-conscious then, and she shook her head. But she watched as he pulled a scroll out from his robes, and she felt her smile fade away. She recognised the seal on the scroll at once.

"That's from the Ministry," she frowned, padding toward him, and Voldemort huffed.

"Came for you by owl ten minutes ago."

"Have you read it?" she asked, and he cocked up an eyebrow.

"No. It's sealed, isn't it?"

"Well. I don't put much past your abilities, Master," she admitted, taking the scroll from him. She broke the seal and unfurled the scroll, and she cleared her throat softly as she read the letter aloud.

" _Dear Miss Black,_

_I do hope this letter finds you in good health and having secured for yourself a satisfactory situation of employment, housing, and other comforts of livelihood. I also trust that you are obeying all of the conditions of your parole, including the requirement that you not be in possession of a wand, nor perform any sort of magic."_

"Hmph. They'd be sorely disappointed if they saw you battle dancing just now," Voldemort scoffed, and Bellatrix smirked. She kept reading.

" _Among the conditions of your release was that the Ministry of Magic reserved the right to call you into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at random for checks on your welfare and adherence to your probation conditions._  Master, do you suppose they've heard about the birthday party?"

Voldemort shrugged. "Well, if they had, I'd need to do some serious soul searching within my ranks. But, no. I suspect that they just don't trust you, as well they shouldn't. They know damned well that you're with me, that you're using a wand. They want to be able to pin something on you and throw you back into prison."

Bellatrix scowled and finished reading the letter. " _You are to report tomorrow, the twenty-seventh of September, to the office of Mr Angus Robertson in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at nine o'clock in the morning. Do not be tardy. Be prepared to provide documentation of your current living and employment situations. Thank you._ "

She gasped then, because Voldemort plucked the letter from her hand and crumpled it up in his fist. As he crumpled, it began to burn and singe with magic that he'd nonverbally cast. Bellatrix watched as the letter disappeared until there was nothing left at all. Voldemort shook his head and said firmly,

"You are not going to the Ministry tomorrow."

"I'm not?" Bellatrix asked, and he shook his head.

"Not tomorrow. Not ever again. You do not belong to them anymore, Bellatrix. You belong to me. You are  _mine_. My soldier. My Death Eater. My wife. And if they want to come drag you off to Azkaban again, they'll have to fight through my army and through me and through you first. And that will be no small feat. You were battle dancing when I walked in. Let them fight if they want to take you. I won't be handing you over in a meeting."

He kissed her then, so suddenly and harshly that Bellatrix yelped in surprise. She clutched at his face, feeling sweaty and dirty, but he didn't seem to mind. He started to push her towards a wall, and she gasped when her back hit plaster. Voldemort yanked at her practise skirt and murmured against her lips,

"You are not ever meeting with a probation officer again. You are not ever stepping foot in some bureaucrat's office again, Bellatrix. Not ever. We're through playing their games. They play my games now, and you are  _mine_. Aren't you?"

"Master." She nodded, tipping her head back, and she moaned softly when he bent and lathed his tongue over her neck. Didn't he mind the salt of her sweat there? He didn't seem to mind. He growled and shoved her hard against the wall, and he whispered near her ear,

"I will never let them drag you away from me in chains again, Bellatrix. You're stronger than them now, aren't you?  _Aren't you?_ "

"Yes." She nodded, holding his head as he started to touch her sensitised skin, the torso that was covered by a thin leotard. Her breath was thin and rickety, but she managed to choke out, over and over, "Yes, Master. Yes. Yes."

* * *

"Abraxas. Do come in." Voldemort pulled off his glasses and folded them, setting them aside as Malfoy came in and sat down opposite him. Abraxas looked terribly amused, and Voldemort said,

"All right. What's so funny?"

Abraxas quivered with laughter as he said, "It's… oh, My Lord. It's Thea Mulciber's baby. She is quite certain that the father is… is… Rodolphus Lestrange."

There was a beat of silence, and finally the idea registered in Voldemort's mind, and he shook his head minutely.

"What?"  
"Rodolphus Lestrange. You know, gangly twenty-year-old? Father of Thea Mulciber's bastard," Abraxas laughed, and suddenly Voldemort found himself laughing right along with Malfoy. He touched at his own forehead and whispered,

"Oh, no. Oh, Merlin's beard." He finally gathered himself enough to say, "Mulciber does realise he has to raise this thing as his own, doesn't he?"

"He does realise that, Master, yes." Abraxas nodded, trying to steady himself, and said, "Thea's agreed to stop drinking. Lestrange - for very obvious reasons - has agreed to keep quiet about it all."

"And to think that boy tried to marry Bellatrix. The nerve." Voldemort shook his head fiercely and laughed again. He and Abraxas took a good solid minute to finally get over the humour, and at last Voldemort put his glasses back on, sniffed a little, and sighed.

"I'm going away for a bit. I'm taking Bellatrix."

Abraxas looked a little confused. "Away, Master?"

"Yes." Voldemort nodded firmly. "She spent six months in prison. For eight months before that, she was trapped on these grounds. I have, for several years now, been trying to get my movement going without ever letting up on the momentum, and these last few months have been especially taxing. Now the Ministry wants to try and drag Bellatrix in to see that she's adhering to her probation conditions, which, obviously, she is not."

Abraxas nodded slowly. "I think the both of you have more than earned some respite, Master, and I do think it wise if the Ministry simply can't find you for a while. Where will you go?"

"I don't suppose I should tell even you," Voldemort said carefully, and Abraxas conceded,

"Fair enough. If they interrogated any of us, we honestly wouldn't know where you were. Or when you'll be back, I take it?"

"No. I shouldn't tell you that, either," Voldemort said. "I think it best that all you and the others know is that Bellatrix and I have gone off for a while to rest, to get away from the Ministry for a time, and that we will be in touch if need be. I leave things in your hands. I trust you, Malfoy. If you fail me, though…"

"I won't, Master." Abraxas shook his head vehemently. "We are all loyal to you. Everyone knows the price of disloyalty, even - perhaps especially - in your absence."

"It isn't as though I will be gone for very long," Voldemort said, "and I could be back at a moment's notice. So keep the ship running smoothly. I just need to get her… somewhere else. Somewhere they can't get their claws on her."

Abraxas' face softened a little, and he nodded. "I understand, Master."

"We'll be leaving tonight," Voldemort said. "Keep records for me to peruse when I return. That's all. Dismissed."

"My Lord." Abraxas rose from his chair and bowed very respectfully before moving smoothly from the office. Voldemort flicked his eyes to the cupboard where his wedding binding ribbon was stored, aiming his wand at it and muttering a few wards to keep even the most curious of hands away. He set his wand down on his desk and rolled it a little, wondering where he ought to take Bellatrix.

Somewhere warm, he thought. Azkaban had been cold and windy. He wanted to take her somewhere warm and quiet and still. The desert, he thought. Dry, peaceful, empty, warm. Morocco. He would take her to Morocco, and they would lie upon a blanket on the sand, and they would stare up at the boundless sky, limitless. You could fall forever. Stars upon stars upon stars upon stars.

**Author's Note: Yeah! Take that, Ministry of Magic! Now, off to Morocco! Adventure time in the desert! Woo hoo! I got a few messages asking if I had a theme song for this story. Yes, of course! I always have a mental playlist for my stories. The main theme song for this story is "Good Man's Wife" by Bella Hardy, and the instrumental theme is** " **Charge" from the soundtrack of BBC's War and Peace. Go ahead and give those a listen! Thanks so much for reading and for any and all feedback. Much love to all.**


	44. Casablanca

"I promise you'll feel better if you eat."

Bellatrix raised her eyes from her glass of rich Rioja wine. She nodded meekly and picked up a chorizo-filled, bacon-wrapped date from the small plate before her. It was delicious, she had to admit. She and Voldemort were in a Muggle restaurant in Madrid, a place that served small plates called  _tapas._  Bellatrix had never been to Spain, but she liked the heat and she liked the food.

They'd left Wiltshire at four in the afternoon, Apparating instantly to Dover, then waiting a scant few minutes before going on to Paris. They'd gone on to Marseille at once, and Bellatrix had begun to feel dizzy and sapped from the long-distance Side-Along. They'd waited another half hour before another stop to Madrid. It was now half past five, and they'd traveled fifteen hundred miles.

"I know it's exhausting to travel like this," Voldemort nodded from where he sat. He stabbed a fingerling potato with his fork and dipped it into the smoky aioli sauce. He chewed and swallowed the bite and told her, "About a decade ago, I went from Moscow to Rome in a day. I don't recommend it."

Overland travel like this - through continuous leaps of Apparition - was ill-advised for all but the most seasoned witch or wizard. Whilst Voldemort was exceedingly powerful, Bellatrix was hardly practised with Apparition. She had to go by Side-Along; she hadn't even passed her test yet when she'd been expelled from Hogwarts. In fact, before they'd left Malfoy Manor, Voldemort had promised that they'd spend at least a little time on their little getaway working on Apparition in case she ever needed it on her own.

But for now, she sat feeling drained and dizzy, and as she sipped her wine, she felt a more profound hunger than she could recall feeling. So she gobbled down a few of the fried padron peppers from the cast iron skillet between Voldemort and herself, and she grabbed a few more of the chorizo-filled dates. Voldemort smirked at her a little and murmured,

"I like to see you eat. It upset me, you know, to think of you hungry."

She blinked a few times and shook her head, and she promised him, "That's all in the past, Master. I'm here now, with you, eating dates and potatoes."

"Yes." He nodded very firmly. "And those bastards will never, ever get their hands on you again."

He seemed very pleased about that. Bellatrix smiled a little. She eyed the suitcase beside him, knowing that it was thoroughly Expanded. Before they'd left, she'd put nearly all her clothes into a trunk, along with cosmetics and soaps and other necessities. Voldemort had packed a similar trunk, then put them into the suitcase he'd Expanded. Bellatrix knew they were going to the desert, though she knew little more than that for 'security reasons.' She'd packed sun cream, a potion she had that last twenty-four hours to protect from sunburn in the summertime, though she wished she'd had more of it. She'd need it, she thought, wherever they were going.

"Where  _are_ we going, Master?" she asked, and Voldemort smiled a little as he popped a date into his mouth.

"Morocco," he said. "We'll be Apparating into Casablanca; I've found the perfect place. It's a spot of desert thirty miles outside of town. We'll be camping there. Abraxas doesn't know where we're going, but he was kind enough to lend me one of his luxurious Expanded tents he uses for Quidditch. Still, it's remote enough that I want to have a vehicle, so I mean to Confound a Muggle into selling me a car, preferably an old American Jeep, so that we can -"

"Wait." Bellatrix scowled, her heart racing. She shook her head fiercely, feeling very confused. "Jeep. What's a Jeep? A car? You can drive a car? We're driving a car into the desert?"

Voldemort looked more amused than ever, and he popped another bacon-wrapped date into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and said,

"Bella, there are a lot of things that I can do. I spent many years on the Continent, you'll recall, learning all sorts of things. Yes. I can drive a car. Now… finish eating. I want to get into Casablanca before sundown."

* * *

Casablanca was chaos.

Blissful, beautiful chaos, but, still - chaos. Bellatrix relished it, given the fact that she had spent eight months in quiet solitude at Malfoy Manor and then six months all alone in Azkaban. She almost didn't care that they were smelly Muggles running around in bazaars, along unpaved roads. She almost didn't care that it was Muggles carrying baskets full of dates and olives, urging on donkeys, carrying water with infants strapped to them. It was all chaos, and she loved the mass psychosis. There was an odd sound coming from a series of towers around them, a sort of whining song, and as they pushed their way through the streets, Voldemort in rolled-up shirt sleeves, Bellatrix asked,

"Master, what is that sound?"

"It is a call to prayer," he explained. "They are made to worship a god they can not see, a prophet they can not know."

"I know my master well," Bellatrix murmured, and she slipped her hand into his. He smiled down at her a bit, and then he paused, jerking his chin to an automobile in a lot. It was a very sturdy-looking thing, much more industrial in appearance than the shiny black things Bellatrix had seen rolling around London. It was dull green and had some rust on it, with a few white painted stars and the letters  _USA_.

"Is that a Jeep?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort nodded.

"That'll do in the desert. So long as you put a cloth over your face. Let's go buy it. Well. Let's go convince someone that we've bought it."

He pulled her into the relatively modern-looking brick and plaster building beside the place where the Jeep was parked. Inside, he straightened his glasses and looked around, and Bellatrix did the same. This place seemed to sell objects of war. There had been a great war, she knew, among the Muggles. It had been around the time Voldemort and her father and the others had been in school, around the time of Grindelwald's defeat. The Americans and the British had fought against the Germans and the Italians and the Japanese. That was an oversimplification, but Bellatrix didn't feel she needed to know too much Muggle history. Looking around here, though, she suspected that Casablanca had been a hotbed of activity during that Muggle war.

" _Bonsoir, Monsieur. Vous souvenez, je crois, j'ai fait un achat anticipé sur la Jeep à l'extérieur de votre magasin._ " Voldemort spoke so smoothly that no one else would have noticed the way the dark-skinned Muggle man vibrated with from a Confundus Charm. But Bellatrix noticed. He nodded, his partner still going about his business of straightening war medals inside a display cabinet. The first man said in English,

"Ah, yes. Hello, again, sir. So good to see you. Yes, your purchase is confirmed. I have the keys for you. One moment."

He walked over to a locked drawer, which he opened, and he pulled out a set of worn-looking keys on a ring with a leather decoration. He moved like a machine to hand them over, and he asked,

"You have questions on the operation of the Jeep, sir?"

"No, I don't think so. Thank you. Goodbye." Voldemort walked right outside the shop, trailed by Bellatrix, a smirk on his face. She was wide-eyed now, with shock at his skill and with mild horror at what they were about to do. She had never ridden in a car of any kind before, much less an American military Jeep in the streets of Casablanca. As she crawled up onto the slightly torn leather seat, she muttered,

"I'm going to get flung out of this thing and die."

"No, you won't. But hold on tightly, just the same," Voldemort said. She watched him put their expanded suitcase in the back of the Jeep, and he appeared to be checking how full canisters marked  _gasoline_  were in the compartment. He glanced around before using wandless magic to Scour the filthy windscreen, and he inspected the tyres. He climbed into the left-hand side of the vehicle - the opposite side from where Bellatrix usually saw Muggles driving - and he inserted the keys into a hole. When he turned his hand, there was a clicking and then a chugging sort of noise, and Bellatrix yelped a little at the great racket the machine made. Her heart rammed inside her chest, and she squeezed at Voldemort's hand. He gave her a little smirk and assured her,

"I promise you this is neither as dangerous nor as terrifying as using a broomstick. No Splinching, no Portkey sickness. It's just a stupid Muggle contraption. We'll be out in the desert before you know it. Hold on tightly. Let's go."

She screamed a little then, for he had pushed his foot onto a pedal that made the car accelerate, and they were pulling out onto the road. Bellatrix gripped the bar beside her, going white-knuckled with fear, as they passed shops and restaurants and other cars. The wind whipped at her just as if she  _were_  on a broomstick, though she thought they actually were more contained and weren't going quite as fast or erratically as broomsticks felt. After a little while, she was able to settle back and relax just a bit, and she glanced over to study the sight of Voldemort driving.

It was strange, she thought, to see him like this - his thinning, greying hair blowing in the wind, his black glasses glinting in the setting sun, his white shirt unbuttoned a bit, his sleeves rolled up. Back home, people were really starting to fear him. And they were directly disobeying the Ministry now. She'd be a fugitive forever now. There was no going back. Violating her parole for an Unforgivable would mean life in Azkaban if they caught her.

But he wouldn't let them catch her. He simply wouldn't allow it. He was Lord Voldemort, and she was his wife, and they had run off to Morocco to get away from the madness for just a little while. Her eyes welled, and she tried to tell herself it was just from the sand as they neared the edge of town. But it wasn't the sand. It was him.

They drove out of town, beyond the newer-looking buildings, past the ancient-looking ones, through the farmland, into the greenish hinterlands, and finally to the waste. Eventually the gravel road ended, and then Bellatrix realised why Voldemort had wanted a sturdy old American military Jeep and not one of the slick black cabs Bellatrix saw in London. This car had nobby tyres made for rough terrain, and they needed them now. The desert here was not silky smooth sand; there were boulders and smaller stones all over the place. There were shrubs and brambles. It was hilly. This was a savage place. As the sun got lower and lower on the horizon, they chased it, heading westward. Finally, Voldemort stopped the Jeep, climbing out and looking around, and he shrugged.

"This seems good," he said, and Bellatrix scoffed.

"What, here in the middle of nowhere?" she asked, getting out of the car on wobbly legs and feeling completely coated in dust. She shaded her eyes from the sharp glint of the orange setting sun and looked around. "There is absolutely nothing here, Master."

"Precisely," he said. "I wanted to bring you somewhere entirely isolated. Somewhere where you could leap into the sky and fall forever."

"Oh." Bellatrix nibbled her lip then, feeling emerald green and gold gratitude swirling in her mind. She nodded. "I hope you've brought water."

"I have." He pulled his Expanded suitcase from the back of the Jeep and opened it. He began pulling supplies out, and Bellatrix just watched in wonder. The tent he pitched was indeed elegantly appointed on the inside, though it was simple canvas on the outside. Bellatrix explored the interior, which had a comfortable double bed, a wooden table and chairs, a soft sofa, and space for dressing trunks, which Voldemort Levitated in. She smiled at him from the centre of the tent and admitted,

"I rather like the idea of being so far away from everyone except for you. When I was in Azkaban, I was so far  _from_ you, Master. Now it the other way round entirely."

He took her face in his hands, and he nodded. "I've got dried food and jugs of water. We've got wands. Let's just be far away for a little while, all right?"

She shut her eyes and rested her head against his chest, and she remembered how he'd looked driving the Jeep in the glow of the setting sun - her master, her husband, the man for whom she'd danced and pined, the man whose letters she'd read over and over until the parchment had frayed. She touched at him, at his chest and his shoulders, and she kissed at him through his shirt, and she whispered,

"We should still put up wards."

They spent the next twenty minutes casting every possible protection they could think of. Muggle-repelling charms, Shields, confusions and deflections. They bound their site up as tightly as they could, though there was surely no human being in a fifty mile radius. When the sun finally disappeared, it got so dark that Bellatrix could hardly see her nose in front of her face. She and Voldemort were walking around with their wands illuminated, and after awhile, she heard him call,

"I've smoothed out the ground over here and put a soft blanket down, if you'd like to come relax."

"Oh. That sounds nice." Bellatrix made her way over to where she could see his face glowing in the light of his wand, and she held his hand as they slowly lowered themselves onto the ground. She whispered frantically, "What if a scorpion or lizard or something comes crawling across my face?"

" _Repello Fauna,_ " Voldemort incanted, and Bellatrix breathed a sigh of relief. He had a spell for everything. He knew everything. She curled up against him, just like she always did in their bed. She was about to say that it was actually quite chilly, but suddenly a blanket was pulled up around her. So he had an answer for that, too. Of course he did.

" _Nox,_ " she whispered, and he did the same, and when their wands went dim, Bellatrix's breath hitched. She stared up at the endless heavens, the boundless sky, and she couldn't breathe. She'd tried so many times, in Occlumency and in Azkaban, to imagine a sky like this, but she'd never quite fathomed infinity like this. The Milky Way cut across the sky like a wound, like a gash slicing open the night and bleeding out speckles of light. Bellatrix tightened her fingers upon Voldemort's chest and whispered desperately,

"I am free."

She had never been free. Not really. She had not been free as a child, nor at Hogwarts, where she'd been trapped within walls and tormented by teachers and classmates who despised her. She had not been free at Malfoy Manor; her house arrest had been pleasant enough, but she'd been captive just the same. She certainly had not been free in Azkaban Prison. But she was free here, lying alone on a desert with the only human being who could possibly comprehend, much less appreciate, her strangeness and cruelty. She was free here, on the cool dusty earth, staring up at the velvet sky into which she could fall forever. Voldemort covered her hand with his on his chest, bringing her knuckles to his lips, and he murmured gently,

"Stars upon stars upon stars upon stars."

**Author's Note: Raise your hand if the image of Voldemort in glasses and rolled-up sleeves driving a Jeep in Morocco seems super hot to you! No? Just me? Well, this is real cute and all, but we all know nothing can stay perfect for too long in my Voldemort stories. As he told Bellatrix… hold on tightly.**


	45. Blood

"Once you decide where you're going, picture it very clearly in your mind, decide you're going there, and  _go_ ," Voldemort said firmly. Bellatrix squinted at him through the blinding heat and nodded. She felt a little confused, and she asked,

"How do you actually… go?"

He pursed his lips and tried to describe the actual act of Apparition. It had been more than twenty-five years since he'd passed the Ministry test. He frowned and said,

"Just, erm… pitch yourself into the void. Shut your eyes, imagine the place you're going, and hurl yourself very deliberately there. You'll feel it."

"Hmm." Bellatrix nodded. "All right. I'll try to go to that little hill over there."

She pointed at a rocky little berm in the distance, and Voldemort nodded. "Right. So, stare at it for a few moments, get a picture of it in your mind and determine that you're going there, then shut your eyes and  _go._ "

"Yes, Master." Bellatrix sucked in air hard, as if she were about to jump into water. She wrenched her eyes shut and whirled a little, falling very ungracefully onto the dusty ground. Voldemort tried not to laugh as he helped her to her feet, but as she brushed herself off, looking irritated, he did say,

"That is not exactly how I expected a dancer to fall."

"I was hoping to be over there," Bellatrix said in a grumpy voice. She huffed a breath and muttered, "I shall try again."

She yanked her body so roughly to the side then that Voldemort had to catch her, and as he held her, he scolded her gently,

"You're overthinking this. Relax."

Bellatrix frowned up at him, putting her hands flat on the chest of his white shirt. "I want to be able to Apparate, Master. What if there's a battle and I need to escape?"

"Relax." He pushed her curls out of her face and bent to kiss her forehead, and he murmured softly, "Think of it and go."

Suddenly she was gone. He grinned as her body disappeared in a blurry black whirl, and when he looked up, he saw her reappear in the distance, complete and successfully Apparated, near the berm. He waved to her, and she jumped up and down in glee. He could not help but share in her childish happiness then, and he waved to beckon her back. After a moment, there was another dark blur, and he knew that she'd Disapparated from the far hill.

" _Ahhhhh!_ Help! Help! Master!"

"Bellatrix!"

She was bleeding everywhere. She was bleeding all over the dusty desert earth. Her body looked like she'd been shot through with a machine gun; she had wounds and holes all over her. She'd been Splinched in such a way that she'd left little scraps of her flesh back by the hill and was a bloody mess on the ground at his feet.

"Bellatrix." He bent to scoop her up, running as quickly as his legs would allow him into their tent. He held his right arm out for the small box of potions he'd brought, and he exclaimed, " _Accio_ Essence of Dittany!  _Accio_ Anodyne Draught!  _Accio_ Draught of Peace!"

He rushed over to the sofa, keeping Bellatrix cradled on his lap as she began to shiver. She was bleeding all over him; his white shirt was splotched scarlet. But he didn't care about that. He cared about the way that half her cheek was torn off, the way her sleeve and shoulder were ripped through, the way her stomach looked like she'd been shot. He cared about the way he could see a rib, the way her jaw was exposed, the way the fabric over her hip was sopping wet with blood. When the potions landed beside him, he struggled to keep his fingers still enough to open the bottle of Dittany, and he murmured,

"Bella, you've Splinched. It's nothing. It's nothing. You'll be fine."

"Damn it. I'm so fucking stupid." She was shaking like mad, and he'd never really heard her use words like that, so he scoffed a little and assured her,

"You'll be fine. It's an odd Splinching; I'll grant you that. But I saw a boy leave both feet in a book shop one time. Here. This is going to sting."

She hissed through clenched teeth and gripped his sleeve as he began dropping smoking Essence of Dittany onto her wounds. Her ripped cotton dress wound need repairing, but that could come later. For now, Voldemort put a few drops on her jaw, her cheek, her shoulder, her bicep, her stomach, her rib, and her hip. He tutted and scolded her,

"You certainly managed to rip yourself to shreds. It's almost impressive."

Bellatrix was seething through the pain, and she let her head fall back against the arm of the sofa. She shut her eyes, looking pale, and Voldemort pulled out his wand and mumbled,

" _Accio_  water canteen."

"I've stained your shirt, Master," Bellatrix lamented, but Voldemort snorted and encouraged her to drink from the metal canteen.

"It can be cleaned. Magic can do many things. We'll train back home. This is meant to be a holiday. You'll rest today. And tomorrow. And until we go home."

"Home." Bellatrix dragged her thumb over his hand then as her wounds began to knit themselves up. She kept her eyes shut and asked, "You don't want to live in Malfoy Manor forever, do you, Master?"

"Well, no," he admitted. "I should like a grand headquarters of my own, once I've sufficient means and power."

"And will I live there with you?" she curled her lips up, and he knew she was imagining a world where he was in charge of everything and she was beside him. He gulped and nodded.

"Yes," he said. "Of course."

"And will I have to bear you children?" she asked, and suddenly his insides froze. He blinked, and he watched her smile fade a little.  _Have to_. He shook his head.

"You don't have to… erm… no. Of course not."

"Good. I hate children," Bellatrix murmured, and Voldemort smirked a little to himself.

"So do I. Well. I hate a lot of things. And people."

"So do I," Bellatrix laughed softly. That seemed to hurt, for she clutched at her ribs a bit, and finally she turned her head and opened her eyes, and she moaned softly with regret. She stroked her skinny fingers over Voldemort's shirt and said, "I don't think any Scouring Charm will get  _that_ much blood out, Master."

"Well, I've got other shirts," he told her. Her own face was still bloody, and for some reason that he would never have been able to explain, not even to her, he found it oddly attractive. It was strangely beautiful to see blood streaked across her cheek, to see her jaw sealed up from its gory wound. He felt his breath quicken in his nostrils then, for Bellatrix's fingers were unbuttoning his blood-stained white shirt. He didn't know why. He didn't ask. He didn't make her stop.

"You're injured," he reminded them both, but she whispered,

"No. I'm fine now."

"You need Anodyne Draught for the pain," he said, feeling dizzy as she started to sit up, but she shook her head and pushed his shirt away from his chest just a little.

"I'm fine, Master."

"Bella." He was so hard then that it hurt, and when she started to wriggle out of her knickers, he saw the glint of her blood on the torn fabric of her black dress. He shut his eyes, his cock throbbing insistently in his trousers, and his voice was hoarse as he mumbled, "Bellatrix."

"Master." Her fingers were at the placket of his trousers then, unbuttoning swiftly, pulling him out, moving with the practised and seasoned grace of a witch who knew this man's body well. She was confident around him these days, and he liked it. He did not miss the quivering childishness of her forbidden sixteen-year-old self. He liked this bloodied, sharp-eyed witch who was climbing atop him with lust in her firm kiss. She pushed his face back and latched onto his neck, and he groaned as she bit so hard that he knew she'd leave a mark.

"Again," he ordered her, snatching her waist and feeling the wet heat of her blood beneath his right palm. She clamped her teeth onto the skin of his neck and sucked hard, and he hissed so violently that he was almost speaking Parseltongue. She sank onto him, her skirt billowing around them, and she was snug and warm and tight. He squeezed at her bloody hip as she sucked harder than ever on his neck, and he murmured,

"I want you to finish what you started."

"Hmm?"

Bellatrix pulled back, her lips swollen and glassy and her eyes fiery. She rocked up and down on her knees, carefully pulling off Voldemort's glasses, folding them, and setting them aside. He nodded and said,

"Josephine Glass. She wasn't innocent. You tortured her because she called you a bitch. She did it more than once. She bullied you."

"Many times, Master," Bellatrix nodded. She gasped, grinding her hips hard against his cock, and she whispered, "The stories I could tell you about that girl…  _oh_ …"

"You'll tell me those stories, Bella," he gasped, squeezing so hard at her hip that he heard the squelch of the blood on the soaked fabric. He came hard, squeezing his eyes shut and hearing Bellatrix moan and pant through her own climax. There was white heat, then dull red throbbing, and as he came down from his high, he let her collapse against his shoulder, and he pet between her shoulder blades and whispered,

"Tell me those stories about Josephine Glass and then finish what you started in that corridor. When we go home, I want you to kill that girl. I mean to take out my enemies, Bellatrix, and I want you to do the same."

"Hmm." She hummed happily, kissing at the skin she'd abused with her lips and teeth. "Yes, Master."

**Author's Note: Remember that innocent little girl in the peasant costume who didn't really know what an erection was? Yeah, she's all grown up, huh? He made quick work of that naïveté. Time for some more revenge… but obviously, all of this is going to put the Ministry (and Dumbledore) on ultra high alert. Will that mean our first instance of *real* battle dancing?**


	46. Ministry

"How about a day in the city?" Voldemort proposed. Bellatrix rolled slowly on the double bed in the tent, pushing herself up and rubbing at her eyes.

"How many days have we been out in the middle of nowhere, Master?" she asked, and he smirked a little where he lay in the bright light filtered through the canvas.

"Twelve days," he replied. "And, as much as I'm enjoying the solitude, I confess that I am experiencing some mild anxiety about leaving everything in Abraxas' hands. I was thinking about staying a night or two in a decent Muggle hotel in Casablanca before working our way back. We've been eating jerky and rehydrated soup for almost two weeks; I thought a few Moroccan meals wouldn't come astray. Maybe you might like to pick up a few oddities in their quaint markets. Hm?"

Bellatrix smirked down at him, tossing her curls away from her face, and she hummed as she lay back down beside him.

"That sounds very nice, Master," she said, "but can we please lie here in the heat for just a little while longer?"

"Yes." He shoved the thin blanket down, for it was indeed hot inside the tent. Bellatrix lay beside him and contemplated aloud,

"You told me to tell you about her. About Josephine Glass. I haven't been doing that, but I've been dreaming about her sometimes. About things she said or did to me. And I have something to tell you."

She looked over to see Voldemort slowly blinking, his vision seeming to focus at last. He nodded, and she told him softly,

"When we were second-years, Gryffindor and Slytherin were tied for the House Cup. It was the beginning of June. Very nearly the end of term. And we were in Herbology - Slytherin and Gryffindor. Josephine Glass was whispering to Harriet Narcks, and then she came walking over to me and burst into tears. She was holding a broken pair of clippers in her hands. She was sobbing."

Voldemort frowned, looking awfully confused. Bellatrix scoffed at the memory, remembering her own utter bemusement, and she said,

"Professor Sprout came dashing over, asking what was the matter. Josephine said that I'd broken her clippers. I denied it, of course, because I'd done no such thing. But Harriet said she'd seen me do it. Professor Sprout took ten points from Slytherin. I shoved Josephine and called her a liar. Professor Sprout took fifteen more points. And that's the story of how Slytherin lost the House Cup by twenty-five points."

Voldemort cleared his throat and stared up at the pitched roof of the tent. He put his hands beneath his head and murmured,

"They never let up on you, did they? All they could do was call you broken, even as they broke you."

"It was like a game for them, including Josephine," Bellatrix said. Her eyes burned just a little as she swallowed hard and said, "She's in her seventh year now. I imagine she's probably got plans for some career after school. Marriage, perhaps, if she gets lucky enough to convince someone to marry her. Only, I won't let that happen. I'm going to murder her over the Christmas holidays, Master. I'm going to go to her parents' house in London, and I'll kill her silently there and disappear. I want to make it look like a suicide, so that when her parents find her, no one suspects me. But I'll need to get much better with Apparition first. Will you help me?"

She looked at him again, and he smiled a little.

"Yes, Bella," he said gently, brushing his knuckles over her cheek. "I'll help you."

* * *

He was catastrophically attractive driving the Jeep. Bellatrix decided that as they pulled back into Casablanca. He'd let his scruff grow in while they'd been here, and that looked good, too - silvery scruff that lay smooth against his chiseled face. His black wooden glasses were handsome. His rolled-up sleeves of his white shirt and the deeply tanned forearms that drove the car were handsome. The fingers - one bearing his black wedding band - that were wrapped around the steering wheel were handsome. Bellatrix remembered how he'd had those fingers buried inside of her the night before, and she shivered as she held on tightly in the passenger seat.

"Master," she said quietly, feeling dizzy as the Jeep bumped and rumbled its way into Casablanca. He glanced over to her and turned up half his mouth, and eventually he paused the car in front of a rather plain-looking white building labeled  _Hotel Farah_. He shrugged and pulled the Jeep up, and a man in a fez started speaking to Voldemort in rapid French. Bellatrix climbed out of the passenger seat, looking around the bustling city and wondering just how Muggles lived without magic. How could she be expected to live like this - like these people - permanently? They'd wanted to make her live without a wand forever, make her live like these people forever. She and Voldemort could holiday here, taking in the sights and sounds of this colourful place, but to strip her of her magic for good?

"Fuck the Ministry," Bellatrix whispered, the hot desert air blowing her curls in front of her face. She balled her fists beside her, liking the sound of the vile word on her lips. She grinned and whispered again, "Fuck the Ministry."

"Bella."

She whirled around, afraid someone was about to scold her, but Voldemort was standing holding his Expanded suitcase, and the Muggle man was driving off with their Jeep. Bellatrix was confused, but Voldemort explained simply,

"He's a valet. He's going to park it, and we'll get it back. Only, we won't, because we'll Apparate from here to Madrid, probably. Oh, well. Free Jeep for him. Let's go Confound the front desk into thinking we've already paid for a room, shall we?"

She followed him inside, and she wandered around the small lobby with its whitewashed walls and blue tiled floor whilst he spoke in quiet, quick French to the Muggle behind the front desk. She studied the little fountain on the wall, with its geometric mosaic design, and then she heard him say quietly,

"This way, Bella."

They went up a narrow staircase to the second storey, where Voldemort inserted a skeleton key and pushed open a heavy wooden door. Inside, Bellatrix found a cramped room with white plaster walls and a window whose wooden shutters had been tossed open. She could see the vast Mediterranean Sea from here, and she could hear the call to prayer from the lonely-looking tower not so far away. The lumpy but clean bed and the wooden wardrobe were the only furniture in the room, and Bellatrix just stood at the window for a long while, soaking in the salty air.

She felt him come up behind her, lacing his arms around her waist, and she tipped her head when he pressed his lips to her cheek. Then he surprised her by whispering,

"Decide that you're going down to the beach, Bellatrix, and  _go._ "

"Oh." She shut her eyes, imagined the beach at which she'd just been staring, and pitched herself into the void like he'd told her to do. There was a hard whirling sensation, the feeling of being thrown and yanked at once, and then she was there. She blinked her eyes open and looked around. Gulls screeched around her, and a few Muggles looked mildly confused. One man muttered something in Arabic, staring at her as if she were a ghost. Well, it must have been confusing, she thought, for a young woman in black to appear out of nowhere. But she grinned, for she hadn't Splinched. She walked down to the shore, staring out at the cerulean blue sea. She focused hard on the hotel room, on the terracotta tile floor and the bright white walls and bed. She thought of the wooden shutters. Then she shut her eyes and threw herself into the emptiness.

Pinching, pulling, thrusting, shoving. She opened her eyes, feeling very queasy, and found herself stumbling into Voldemort's arms. She was unsurprised to see him holding a bottle of Dittany, just in case, but he looked immensely pleased with the fact that she'd Apparated down to the beach and back unscathed. He grinned, setting the Dittany down on the bed, and he nodded.

"You'd pass a Ministry test," he said, "if I had any intention of ever letting you anywhere near the Ministry again."

"Fuck the Ministry," Bellatrix said, not for the first time that day, and he laughed. He shook his head and said playfully,

"I think I've been a very bad influence on you, Miss Black."

"Madam Black, isn't it?" she asked softly, and his smile faltered a little as he turned the ring on his left hand. He reached into his pocket and pulled something out, and he said,

"To that end… seeing as I do  _not_  have any intention on letting you near the Ministry, nor of letting you marry Rodolphus Lestrange, nor of concealing my marital status… I hope you will consider wearing this. It is simple. I have given you many diamonds before, but I know you will want your hands to be free of excessive ornamentation in the case of battle. I hope you like it. I had it made just before we left, and I couldn't quite find the right time to give it to you. Now's as good as any, I think."

He reached for Bellatrix's hand, and he pushed a ring onto her fourth finger. It was a smooth band of black tungsten, just like his, but more narrow and feminine. Around the middle of the ring was a band of blue-green opal, the same colour as was found in her formal necklace and her hairpins. Bellatrix smiled down at the ring, for it was at once elegantly girlish and fierce. It was a warrior's ring - a female warrior's ring. It was  _hers_ , and she very much liked it.

"It is perfect, Master," she nodded. "I can wear it to fight, and yet it is beautifully ornamented. I am… I am very grateful."

He tipped her face up toward him, and he brushed his lips against hers. They stood there for a very long moment, their breath mingling as the warm salt air came off the sea through the open window.

"I want a palace of my own," he whispered. "I want to have a secret headquarters, a place only you and I know. And then I want to become very powerful, Bellatrix, and I want you with me. I want everything to be mine. And you're already mine, aren't you?"

"Yes, Master," she answered, touching his face and feeling herself go a little wet at the feel of his scruff. She whimpered rather helplessly. "Let's go back to England and find you a palace of your own. And I will serve you there. I will help you get everything you want."

"Yes," he breathed, seeming more than a little excited by the prospect of taking what he wanted. He snatched Bellatrix's tiny waist and tossed her onto the low bed, and as he started to unbutton his shirt, he mumbled, "First thing's first."

**Author's Note: It's Easter weekend, so I have barely any writing time, BUT! Okay, so. A few things. a) I know I said initially that this fic was canon-compliant. It very well may not be; she likely will** _ **not**_   **wind up as a Lestrange, and Voldemort may or may not wind up defeated in 1981. So. b) We are in for the long haul here. You can see that I'm setting up a few subplots where Bellatrix starts picking off the people who bullied her, the Ministry is going to start attacking, there will be battles, Voldemort starts building his personal empire as well as his political power, etc. In all likelihood, we're now looking at** _ **All The Wrong Choices**_ **and** _ **In the Shadow of Your Wings**_   **type length (~200k words).**

**I hope that some people will stick with me through all of this. I promise I have lots of exciting things in store. We're going to see lots of revenge, lots of character development for Voldemort and Bellatrix (including their first HUGE arguments and reconciliations), Bellatrix's relationship with her family fall apart, big battle scenes, lemons, etc.**

**For those still reading, THANK YOU. For those who have reviewed, THANK YOU. And for those who are buckling up and sticking around for what I'm kind of looking at as "Part II" of this story… THANK YOU!**


	47. Adderbury

"Well? What do you think?" Voldemort held his hands out, and Bellatrix's jaw dropped open.

"You bought this place, Master?" she asked in disbelief, and he smirked.

"Sort of." In truth, he'd made a cash offer to the Muggle real estate agent using completely counterfeit British Muggle money held in Swiss accounts. But the transactions had all gone through, and now Tom Marvolo Riddle was the proud owner of Adderbury House, a massive restored Georgian manor that had sold for two million pounds. The grounds were extensive, and Voldemort had placed Muggle repelling charms of all sorts around them to deter the Oxfordshire residents from even caring that Adderbury House was even there. They would stay far away from the walled gardens. He'd procured three House-Elves through Abraxas from the placement agency in Diagon Alley - one just for the grounds and two for the massive house.

"I'm going to rattle around in a place like this," Bellatrix breathed as she stepped between the hefty bubbling fountains on the gravel drive in the front. She stared up at the beautiful stone home and shook her head a little, and she marveled, "You wanted a palace, Master. You've got it."

"Let's go inside." He felt quite proud of himself as he led her through the double front doors, newly painted in glossy deep blue. The foyer had a floor of shining black-and-white marble, and an energetic House-Elf practically fell over himself as he came skittering to the door.

"Master V-V-Voldemort!" the House-Elf exclaimed. "Madam B-Bellatrix! P-Pleased to meet you."

"This is Plinky. He's got a stutter, but he's also got enthusiasm," Voldemort said to Bellatrix, and she laughed a little.

"So I see. Here, Plinky. You can take my cloak and hang it." She let her cloak fall to the ground so that she wasn't directly handing clothes to the elf, and Plinky hurried to snatch it and scamper away toward a spacious mud room off the foyer. Bellatrix looked up to see the brass candelabra hanging in the two-storey foyer, the winding staircase that led up to a catwalk and extensive corridor system, and she smiled a little.

"Somehow, despite the size of the place," she said, "it still feels quite homey."

"I wanted a place to relax," Voldemort explained. "Somewhere a bit warmer than Malfoy Manor. I knew you'd understand."

"I do." She nodded, walking carefully to her left into the formal dining room. The table was long but simple, elegant wood with wispy white curtains on the butter yellow walls. Bellatrix walked along the pale floors and dragged her fingers along the table, and she glanced beyond the dining room. "Those are the kitchens down there, Master?"

"Yes. There's a butler's pantry, a baking kitchen, a cooking kitchen, a preparation space, a servant's eating room… all hidden beyond those doors. You needn't trouble yourself. The elves will take care of all that. For breakfast, we can eat in here."

He led her into a sunny, happy little space, a rotunda off the dining room with a round wooden table around which six country-style chairs had been put. There was a cut-crystal pitcher in the centre of the table, and Bellatrix smiled a little as she stared out the bay windows onto the massive, wispy expanse of grass beyond the kitchen nook. Suddenly, Voldemort knew what she was imagining. Children. She was imagining a child dashing around out there. He gulped and shook his head a little and insisted,

"You'll feel nice and free here, I hope."

"I will, Master." She turned toward him, her woven braids looking serious around her face as she nodded. She was wearing an almost dour wool gown today, something that the Muggles would have labeled  _Victorian._  She looked gothic here, like she'd been plucked from another time and dropped into 1969. He curled up his lips and continued the tour. They had much to see.

"There is a carriage house," he was saying, "and I mean to procure a few thestrals. Just for fun."

"Thestrals," Bellatrix laughed. "Well. If that's what you want, Master."

He smirked, thinking that soon enough he'd have every last thing he wanted. He moved to the very back of the house, to a room that was lined with very extensive bookshelves, and he said plainly,

"This is the library, obviously. There's plenty of furniture in here to read, but there's another dedicated reading room just beyond there, and a smoking room or lounge beyond. In here… in here will be my office."

He opened a door off to the right of the foyer and showed her the darker space with its heavy mahogany furniture, its emerald velvet curtains that looked out upon the rose garden, and she nodded.

"Will you work here or at Malfoy Manor more, do you think?"

"I'll go there when I need to meet with people. I'll relish my solitude here," he said firmly. "Most everything can be done by owl, and I prefer it that way. Large group meetings will continue to be held at Malfoy Manor. If I decide to let anyone in my inner circle know of this place, I'll meet with them in this office. I have not yet decided about that matter. For security reasons, I think that all meetings should be done at Malfoy Manor."

"I think that is wise," Bellatrix nodded seriously. "You must have a place to escape to, Master, if things ever become dire. Somewhere no one can give up under even the most serious interrogation."

"Right." He licked his lip and led her out of the office, showing her the plush and expansive drawing room, with its grand piano and its three separate fireplaces and seating areas. Then they climbed the winding stairs up to the first floor, which they bypassed for now in favour of the second storey. He showed her the three small bedrooms and the two large guest suites up here, all of which were stylishly decorated but perfectly useless, since they would have no guests.

"No offence, but I don't exactly mean to have your parents here for Christmases," Voldemort pointed out, and Bellatrix scoffed.

"I wouldn't want that," she said as they descended the stairs back to the first storey. "I feel no urge to see them these days, Master."

"Good." He sighed heavily, glancing down into the grand foyer. "The other House-Elf is Pokey. A fitting name. She's old; she'll focus more on laundry and cooking, and I don't reckon we'll see much of her. Plinky is to attend more to any tasks you may need done. The gardening one… I think it's called Barney, but I can't remember if it's a boy or girl. It doesn't matter; it'll make sure the roses are nice. Anyway. This level is all ours."

He pushed open a double door that led into a rococo, French-style reception room. The walls were white and gilded, with mirrors in the panels that reflected the abundant light from the windows. Chairs and little sofas had been arranged around delicate coffee tables, and there was a little hand-painted piano in one corner. Everything was pale blue and red and white. Bellatrix seemed to marvel, and as they walked through, she murmured,

"You've got your palace."

Voldemort opened a door at the end of the reception room and gestured in. "This is all yours. Mine's on the other side."

Bellatrix looked impressed as she walked through the doorway. He let her explore the expansive dressing room, with its boudoir table, its hanging racks and shoe cupboards, its hat storage and its special cupboards for accessories like gloves and jewelry. She had her own bathroom, and he peered in to see her glancing around the white and copper space. It was gleaming and clean, with separate shower and bath, a pedestal sink, a square copper-rimmed mirror, and white tile all around the room.

"I adore it," Bellatrix said softly. Voldemort's own dressing space was darker, heavier, more masculine. His bathroom was black tile instead of white, and his metallic was brushed brass instead of copper. Their bedroom, into which he led her now, was wallpapered in green and beige toile, with green velvet bedding and a twining four-poster bed. The space was mostly empty aside from the bed and side tables and fireplace, for the other rooms attended to their other needs, but there were four windows in total, and so there was lots of light. Bellatrix smiled as she stared down onto the rose gardens out a window.

"Adderbury House," she said softly. "The palace of the Dark Lord. And no one knows but you and me."

Voldemort gulped hard where he stood behind her, deciding that she looked so beautiful he could hardly stand it.

"Go down to the rose gardens and come back up here," he ordered her. "Go. Twenty seconds. Be back here in twenty seconds.  _Go._ "

She glanced over her shoulder at him, surprised, but then she nodded quickly and vanished into a swirl of whizzing darkness. He smirked as he stepped up to the window and saw her appear down in the gardens, standing among the thorny, autmnal remnants of the white roses there. She smiled up at him, looking dark and mysterious as cloud cover began to cloak the gardens in gloom. She Disapparated, her body pinching into black where she stood, and suddenly she appeared beside him in the bedroom. He took her face in his hands and nodded.

"You're going to make it look like a suicide," he noted. "Josephine will be home for the Christmas holidays in six weeks, so you'll need to begin real plans very soon. Tell me what you've got in mind."

Bellatrix put her hands on his black woolen robes and said firmly, " _Dear Mum and Dad, I have tried every cream, every potion, every spell. Nothing can make me beautiful. I look in the mirror and I see a hideous beast, uglier than the ugliest goblin. I can't take it anymore. Everyone's starting to talk about getting married. No one will ever want me. I can't see any purpose for me. I can't see any life beyond school. I'm sorry. Love, Josephine._ "

"A note," Voldemort nodded. "Cruel, but, then, you've always been more than a little cruel. How will you forge it?"

"I'll Imperius her into writing it," Bellatrix confirmed, "and then I'll Imperius her into using her own wand to cast a Killing Curse at herself. When the Ministry checks her wand, they'll see the -"

"No. That won't work." Voldemort shook his head. "I've tried it. You can't Imperius someone into committing suicide with the Killing Curse. I'm not sure why, but it just doesn't work. It'd be inelegant, but you could try a potion. It'd arouse suspicion, since she'd have had to brew it or buy it. What would work much better would be… eek. It's, erm… bloody."

"I don't mind bloody," Bellatrix shrugged, and he curled up his lip as he said,

"Imperius her into using her own wand to cast a Severing Charm across her neck. Silence her first so she doesn't scream. Let her bleed out on the floor. Don't leave until she's dead. Then Scour any trace of yourself, leave her with the note, and Disapparate. Her parents will find her, the wand will be inspected, and it'll look like she did it to herself."

Bellatrix nodded. "Gruesome," she admitted, "but it'll work, I think."

Voldemort chewed his lip. "Dumbledore will know. He'll notice that it's your bullies, your enemies who are disappearing. He's likely to attack, sooner rather than later. I expect there will be a battle not long after Josephine Glass' supposed suicide."

"Good." Bellatrix tipped her chin up and insisted, "I've been aching for some real battle dancing. And, anyway, if I get lost, Master, I'll know how to find you."

She held up the key around her neck, spun the compass there, and waited until the dial landed squarely on him. He sighed and told her softly,

"There's one more space I want to show you. Just over here, through this door."

He led her through the door in the corner of their bedroom and down a narrow corridor to an otherwise empty wing of the house. It was a large space that had, prior to his renovation, been an entire addition bedroom suite. But he'd used magic to gut the space of its bathroom and wardrobe and transform it into what he and Bellatrix needed. He smirked as they came into the expansive room, much larger than the version than had been in Malfoy Manor.

"A dance studio," Bellatrix breathed, and when she looked around, her eyes welled so heavily that even Voldemort felt himself overcome with emotion. He struggled to put a colour to it - was it crimson love or something different? He couldn't quite tell.

He'd put elegant neo-Classical archways at the entrance to the dance studio, and there were decorated columns around the plaster walls. There were floor-to-ceiling mirrors along one wall, along with a perfectly constructed barre. The floor was smooth wood with an inlaid design of the Dark Mark in the centre. Bellatrix went to stand there and grinned at him, and then she noticed the wardrobe along one wall. She opened it and dragged her fingers along all the leotards and practise skirts, the tights and the dozens of pairs of pointe shoes he'd procured for her in the same sizes she already had. Suddenly she sank to her knees, cradling her face in her hands, and she put her wand in her lap as she began to shake with tears.

"Bella?" Voldemort was a little nervous now. Had he gone too far in buying her leotards? Perhaps he'd been stupid to buy her leotards. But she looked up at him, tears silently streaming down her lovely cheeks, and she whispered,

"You deserve  _everything_ , Master. Every last thing you could ever want in this entire world should be yours. And I will fight so hard to make everything yours. I hope you know that."

"I know it." He nodded, feeling a bit dizzy. "I know."

Bellatrix slowly stood, shutting the ballet wardrobe with a soft click, and she swiped determinedly at her tears as she approached Voldemort. She stroked at his silver-threaded beard, which was smooth and properly grown in now, and she murmured,

"I love you, Master. I love this house, and I love you, and I will fight for you."

"I know," he whispered. "Now. I'm hungry. Let's go have some lunch."

**Author's Note: Well. He wanted a palace, and he got himself one. With inflation, by the way, that place sold for over 35 million pounds. Eek! Sounds like Bellatrix is really gearing up for her revenge against Josephine, too! I'm so glad to hear so many people will be sticking with me as this story takes on a whole new shape and life. I'm excited. Next up - A Very Awkward Meeting in which Druella and Cygnus finally confront the idea that Bellatrix is possibly married to Voldemort, and also Bellatrix's first Big Death Eater Meeting. Woo Hoo!**

**Finally, I've written a one-shot called Provocation to accompany Ch. 13 of this story, so go ahead and give that a look if you feel like it!**


	48. Servant

Getting ready in her new dressing area was an absolute pleasure. Bellatrix had plenty of space to paw through her clothes and choose just the right outfit. For today, she decided upon something demure, something that would seem appropriate for an autumn tea with her parents. She pulled on a black silk bra and matching knickers, along with a pair of black silk stockings that she charmed not to slip down her thighs. Then she pulled on a high-necked black blouse with lace sleeves and a flared black skirt with a wide leather belt, and she slipped on black kitten heels. She made her way to her boudoir and cast deodorising charms upon herself before running a wide-toothed comb through her hair. She sat and pursed her lips, finally deciding to pull her hair into a tight, dancer's-style bun at the back of her head. She poked in her opal pins and pulled on her opal necklace, and a voice from the doorway of her dressing area said softly,

"You look divine."

Bellatrix smirked into her mirror and opened a tin of Dr Fyne's Smoothing Foundation. She rubbed a bit onto her skin and then dabbed on some deep plum eyeshadow with the pads of her fingers. She applied some mascara and dark burgundy Stay All Day lipstick, and then she used a Self-Cleansing Cloth to wipe her fingers and turned where she sat.

"Master, you're all dressed, too," she noted. "Where are you off to today? Have you got meetings on a Sunday?"

"Just one," he said dryly, "with my in-laws."

Bellatrix's stomach flopped, and she felt her lips part a little. Voldemort raised an eyebrow, and it was only then that she noticed how neatly he'd trimmed his mostly-grey beard and hair. He shrugged.

"Sorry; am I not welcome?"

"Of course you are, Master." She stood shaking her head vehemently. "Of course, Master. I just… I wasn't expecting you to come."

"No, but I am coming," he said. She examined his robes, midnight blue wool-silk cut in a double-breasted style that still evoked the flowing, magical way of dressing. He'd worn the pair of glasses he had that were black wood on the top and rimless on the bottom, which were exceedingly elegant. He was achingly handsome in a powerful, intimidating way. He held his hand out to Bellatrix and asked her,

"Ready?"

She gulped and took his hand, walking with him out through their powder blue-and-red reception room and down the enormous sweeping staircase.

"Plinky!" Voldemort called. "The formal cloaks!"

Plinky came tottering out of the mud room then, two cloaks hovering in the air before him. Bellatrix slid into hers - the cloak that Voldemort had bought her the year before when she'd been under house arrest and she'd needed a lined cloak for autumn and winter. She pulled her leather gloves from the pockets and pulled them onto her hands, and she sighed nervously as Voldemort suggested,

"Why don't we go by Side-Along Apparition, Bellatrix?"

"All right, Master." She cleared her throat and waited, but nothing happened. She frowned, looking up at him, and he smirked.

"You take us," he said, and she gasped softly. She'd never Apparated that far. From Oxfordshire to her parents' house? She'd Splinch! She shook her head a little, but Voldemort insisted, "You've got five and a half weeks until you need to be Apparating in and out of Josephine Glass' house without leaving any bits behind. Practise starts now. Let's go. Take us to your parents' house."

"Yes, Master." Bellatrix felt queasy then as she shut her eyes and deliberately thought about the front door of her parents' townhouse in London. She imagined the bright white door, the grey exterior. She squeezed at Voldemort's hand, and she hurled herself into the void. They were whooshing, pinching, yanking. They landed hard on the street then, and when Bellatrix opened her eyes, she smiled. Suddenly she was being wrenched hard up onto the sidewalk, and she realised she'd landed them in the middle of the road. A Muggle laid upon his car horn angrily as he drove past, and Voldemort chuckled.

"Very well done," he said, sounding almost proud. Bellatrix looked up at her parents' house and huffed out a breath. She was dizzy and a little nauseated, but it was passing quickly. She started to release Voldemort's hand, but he kept hold of her and started walking up toward to the door. She was confused; did he mean to hold her all the way up to the door? It seemed so. She frowned in bemusement as he led her up the stone steps and pressed his finger on the black button that sounded the doorbell.

"Master?" Bellatrix pulled at her hand again, but he stared right ahead and squeezed her fingers a little. He  _did_  mean to keep hold of her. She was wide-eyed then as as the manic little voice of Mappy the House-Elf cried from behind the door,

"I'll get it, Masters!"

The door flung open, and Mappy looked frightened as she exclaimed, "Mistress Bellatrix! And… eep! It is Lord Voldemort! Do come in, do come in, do come in! Master Cygnus! Madam Druella! Mistress Bellatrix has come with Lord Voldemort!"

Mappy slammed the door shut and scampered away, muttering something about adding a place to the tea table, and suddenly Druella and Cygnus Black had appeared in the foyer. Druella was dressed in elegant brown robes with a lace cape, and Cygnus was appropriately clad in heather grey robes, but neither had dressed up. They'd only been expecting Bellatrix, after all. Druella quickly dipped into a low curtsy, and Cygnus stared for a moment at where Voldemort held Bellatrix's gloved hand.

"Mummy," Bellatrix said breathlessly. "Daddy. I hope you don't mind; the Dark Lord wanted… erm…"

"You and I had planned on meeting about Gringotts tomorrow, Cygnus, and I'd hoped we could just do away with all that with a quick five-minute chat," Voldemort said with a smirk. "In the parlour?"

"Oh. Erm… of course, Master." Cygnus seemed as though he were in shock, and he led Voldemort into the parlour after Voldemort hung his cloak on the rack by the door Bellatrix followed suit, taking off her winter cloak and gloves and putting them on the rack with Voldemort's. She smiled awkwardly at her mother and followed her into the dining room, and she asked,

"How's Cissy?" she didn't dare ask about Andromeda; so far as Bellatrix knew, her parents hadn't heard from Andromeda in months. Andromeda, as far as Bellatrix knew, had spent the summer holidays at a friend's house, had bought her school supplies with money Druella and Cygnus had sent in an envelope, and had seen herself off to Hogwarts for her fifth year. But Narcissa was still just a third-year; she had so much schooling left. As Bellatrix and Druella sat at the dining table, Druella cautiously poured hot tea into their cups, offering Bellatrix a wooden box of teabags, and she said,

"Cissy says she despises Divination, but she and Lucius are quite enjoying Potions this term. She tried out for Quidditch. No idea why."

"To spend more time with Lucius, no doubt," Bellatrix said with a little smile, and Druella scoffed.

"Well. No matter. She didn't come close to making it, and I'm glad. She could fall off the broom."

Bellatrix plucked out a bag of rose tea with her left hand and dropped it into her cup, and her mother asked softly,

"What is that on your finger, Bellatrix?"

For a long moment, she said nothing at all, but she knew why Voldemort had brought them here. She raised her eyes to her mother, then reached for a small tea biscuit.

"Bellatrix," Druella said again, and Bellatrix shrugged.

"What do you think it is?"

"He's got one," Druella noted. "Your father saw it on his hand at your birthday. Your  _eighteenth_  birthday."

Bellatrix just sighed and ate the biscuit. Ginger. Too strong of a flavour. She set the biscuit down and sipped her tea, which hadn't steeped to strength yet. She stared across the table at her mother, who hadn't touched anything, and said,

"Who cares how old I am, or how old he is? He's not exactly an ordinary wizard, is he?"

Druella narrowed her eyes. "He is twenty-five years older than you. Did he touch you before you were of age?"

"That is absolutely none of your business," Bellatrix said in a clip, and Druella gasped.

"He did, didn't he? It  _is_  my business; I am your mother."

Bellatrix tipped her head and shrugged. "That was then, and this is now. I'm eighteen. I'm of age. I'm married. Everything's all nice and proper, isn't it?"

"You are a fugitive," Druella said tearfully. "We got a letter from the Ministry. It said that if we were in touch with you and failed to report it to the Ministry, we could be arrested."

"Well, do you mean to report this tea time to the Ministry?" Bellatrix asked tightly, and Druella shook her head as a tear dribbled down her cheek.

"N-No. Of course not. It's only… this is not the life I had in mind for you, Bellatrix."

"Oh, do tell me what life you  _did_  have in mind, Mummy." Bellatrix swigged down her tea and slammed down her cup. "Do tell me what you envisioned. Selling me off to be the meek little wife of Rodolphus Lestrange, serving my probation without a wand, without a finished education? Yes, you would have been perfectly happy for me to be some Pureblood little housewife, sitting at home, spending my life shitting out babies, just like you, would you?"

"Bellatrix," said Voldemort's voice from beside her, but she held up her hand to silence him as she stood, sending the teacups clattering on the table as she yelled at her mother in a shaking voice,

"You would have been perfectly fine with Father's plan to  _sell_  me as a bride to whatever man was desperate enough to agree. You would have made a whore of me to whatever wizard had a fetish for felons, eh? And that life would have been fine. But goodness forbid that I marry a man who happens to be twenty-five years my senior, because I -"

"Bellatrix!" bellowed Voldemort, and she screamed at him,

"I am not finished!"

"Oh, yes, you are," he snarled, and he snatched her wrist so roughly that Bellatrix yelped in pain. Cygnus and Druella looked so distressed that Druella seemed on the verge of losing consciousness. Voldemort Summoned his and Bellatrix's cloaks from the foyer, and he said to Druella and Cygnus,

"Yes, we're married. Sorry to inform you this way. Report this meeting to the Ministry and you'll regret it. Cygnus, fix that mistake or you'll regret that, too. We'll meet again under happier circumstances, I'm sure. Bellatrix, we're leaving."

"Bella…" Cygnus shook his head frantically, and Bellatrix growled in a low voice,

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I lost my temper. I'm sorry."

"Let's go." Voldemort Disapparated then, and Bellatrix chomped her lip as she was wrenched through the black void of Disapparition. She yanked her arm away from him as soon as they landed in the foyer of Adderbury House.

"You're hurting me!" she cried, stomping up the great winding staircase. She watched Voldemort toss their cloaks onto the ground, then saw Plinky come dashing out to fetch them. Voldemort raced up the stairs, and Bellatrix started to run away from him. She ran through the corridor toward the reception room of their quarters, but in there, he caught her arm, forcing her to whirl around. She tried to hit him, very much out of instinct, but he caught her hand and forced both her wrists down.

"What the blazes is the matter with you?" he demanded sharply. "Screaming at your mother like that?"

"Don't ever put me in a position like that again!" Bellatrix demanded. "Having to defend my wedding band! Having to defend you! Don't you  _ever_  do something like that to me again. I was meant to go alone to tea, and you invited yourself. Don't do that to me ever -  _agh!_ "

His hands tightened on her wrists until she was sure they would snap, and she winced.

"Tell me I just heard you incorrectly," he said through clenched teeth. "Tell me I did not just hear you bossing me about as though you were my  _equal_."

He let that sit in the air for a long, heavy moment, and Bellatrix's eyes welled so thickly that she couldn't see him. His hands cinched more tightly on her wrists, and suddenly his lips were beside her ear.

"Before you were my wife, you were a girl whose seventeenth birthday I was awaiting so that I could  _fuck_  you into the sheets." He shoved her then, pushing her roughly against the mirrored wall. Bellatrix gasped, rolling out the wrists he'd squeezed. His voice was still a low hiss as he reminded her, "Before that, you were just a sixteen-year-old facing a Ministry sentence, a little girl I rescued because I wanted you as a slave. Have you forgotten this story, Miss Black?"

_Miss Black._  That hurt so much worse than the wrists. She didn't know why, but it did. She shook her head and whispered,

"No, Master; I have not forgotten."

"Who is the servant in this relationship, Bellatrix?" Voldemort demanded, and she shut her eyes and tipped her head back against the mirror.

"I am."

"Who is the master?" he purred against her ear.

"You are," she whispered back.

"I will not rape you," he informed her. "Consent to your punishment."

"I consent," she mumbled, though she had no idea what he meant to do to her. It didn't matter. She belonged to him. He pushed her shoulders down, down until she was kneeling on the ground, and he instructed her,

"Keep your eyes and mouth shut. Do not open your mouth or eyes."

"Yes, Master," Bellatrix nodded, pinching her lips and eyes shut and feeling her breath rickety in her nostrils. She'd upset him. She'd lost her temper with her mother and she'd made him very angry. He was angry with her. She was going to be sick. Her stomach was tied in knots; her chest was tight and her mind was a mess. Did he hate her because of this? Would he leave her over this? Would he move on to some other witch who obeyed him and made him happy?

" _Lubrico_ ," she heard him mutter, and then there was the sloppy sound of his hand moving on his cock. After a few moments, the sound cleaned up a little, and she could tell he was getting harder. She knew his body well; she knew what it sounded like for a hand to be moving on him. She could hear him breathing, too. She could hear shallow little pants of his breath far above her, but she kept her hands folded on her skirts and kept her eyes and lips shut like he'd said.

"You look so pretty," he said softly, "kneeling there in the hair pins and necklace I gave you. Do you know why I gave you those things, Bellatrix? Hm? Do you know why? It's because I'm in love with you. That's…  _oh_.  _Oh_. Fucking hell… oh. That's why. Because…  _oh_. I love you."

She startled then, for there was wet heat getting all over her. His come was landing on her face, and she tipped back a little to better receive it. She could feel it striping from her forehead down to her chin, landing in puddles on her cheekbones and lips. She breathed in the musky smell of it, and then she heard Voldemort tell her sharply,

"You stay here. Do not move. I'll be back in a few minutes when I feel like cleaning you up."

**Author's Note: Uh-oh. Someone got a little too comfortable and forgot her place. Just in case you forgot that this guy who's all mushy and romantic and builds dance studios is also the Master in a bloodlusty, extremely dysfunctional relationship. Yeah. And there goes that damned temper of hers again. Whoops. Well, next up, we have a reeeeeeeal Death Eater meeting, starring… Rodolphus Lestrange. :} Woo hoo! PLEASE do take a moment to leave a quick review if you can. I'd be very grateful. :)**


	49. Muster

"You will sleep in this room until further notice."

Voldemort gestured into the small bedroom on the second storey. Bellatrix sighed. She stepped into the bedroom, which had a white wooden dresser and a white wooden framed bed with a country-style quilt and a single window. It had begun to rain outside, and Bellatrix moved to shut the double panes. She noticed that three of her simplest woolen dresses and a few pairs of plain knickers and bras had been laid out upon the bed, and Voldemort said curtly,

"There's a toothbrush with paste and a comb in the bathroom next door. You may take your meals in the servants' dining room downstairs. Pokey will serve you porridge and apples twice daily."

Bellatrix shut her eyes and felt them sting so badly that tears wormed out, and she had to quickly brush them away.

"Thank you, Master," she whispered, her voice cracking. Porridge and apples? What she'd eaten in prison? He was torturing her. He was doing the worst things he could think of. Separating her from him at night, making her eat food from prison…

"You will remain in this room and the bathroom during the day," he was saying, "until I return from my work in the evening. If I have want of your company, I will come for you. There are four books on that shelf there. You may read those. Good day, Bellatrix."

The door slammed shut, and she mumbled, "Good day, Master."

She sat down on the bed and stared out the window at the rain. She was being punished for screaming at her mother about being married to Voldemort, about ' _shitting out babies'_ and being sold as a whore to Rodolphus Lestrange. But it was far more than that. She'd forgotten her place. She'd come home from that fight and yelled at Lord Voldemort. She'd scolded him.  _Don't you ever,_  she'd said to him, words that a witch might think of using with a husband who was her equal. But Lord Voldemort would never be Bellatrix's equal. He was her master.

So she sat on the bed all afternoon and stared at the rain, and when night fell, she dutifully went to the tiny bathroom, took a quick bath with unscented soap, scrubbed her teeth, and pulled on a plain nightgown. She had precisely no appetite for porridge and apples, so she didn't eat. She just climbed into the single bed, which creaked and groaned a little in its old wooden frame, and she tried to fall asleep to the sound of the rain pattering outside the little window. Eventually, she did fall asleep.

She dreamed of Azkaban. She dreamed of falling asleep with his letters all around her on her cot whilst the storms raged outside.  _Master_ , she could hear herself whispering.  _Master. Master._  It had only been a few months ago, yet it felt a world away.

"Bellatrix."

Her eyes sprang open at the sound of her name, and she reached at once for her wand and sat up straight in the single bed. Outside the window of the little room, a storm was raging wickedly. Was she in Azkaban again? No. He was here; he was lowering her wand with his fingers and murmuring,

"This is stupid."

"Master?" Bellatrix set her wand down, and Voldemort peeled back the blankets of her single bed. He started to yank up on her nightgown, but Bellatrix said shyly,

"I'm bleeding, Master."

"Oh." He sounded distantly disappointed. Bellatrix had used a Witch's Stopper Charm to keep her blood contained and continuously Vanishing, so it wasn't staining the sheets, but her cramps gave her away to herself. Why had he come here, in the middle of the night, in the middle of her punishment, for sex?

"This is stupid," he said again, tucking the blankets back up around her. Suddenly he stood and began to pace around the little bedroom as the wind howled and the rain lashed outside. "I believe you have been sufficiently punished. I believe you understand well enough that you are my servant and that I am your master. I believe that you lost your temper, and that you're a person who's liable to lose her temper. I do not wish to punish you further. It is nauseating me to do so. So get out of this room and go into  _our_  room, Bellatrix. Now. Go."

She scampered out of the single bed, not bothering to make it, and hurried past him. She dashed barefoot through the parquet corridor, down the hall that led to their reception room. She hurried through the pale blue and red space, through lightning and thunder, through the enormous double doors that led to their bedroom, and suddenly her arm was being grabbed.

This time, she didn't hit him.

Hours ago, when they'd come back from her parents' house, she'd tried to slap him. She'd shouted at him, scolded him. He'd pushed her to the ground; he'd come on her face. Then he'd ordered her to stay away from him in a room meant for children or guests. But now, in the middle of the night, in the middle of a storm, he stood holding her wrist, and his thumb dragged over her skin. He moved to take her face in his hands, and he whispered carefully,

"I am your master."

"I am your servant," she replied, and he nodded, bending to kiss her.

"I am your husband," he hummed against her lips, and she whispered back,

"I am your wife. But first I am your servant."

"Good girl." He kissed her delicately, softly, and he promised her, "I will never make you eat porridge and apples as long as I live. Come lie on my chest."

* * *

"My friends." Voldemort folded his hands on the desk of the meeting room in Malfoy Manor and looked around at those assembled. He sensed a little unease from a few, and he realised Mulciber was staring daggers at Rodolphus Lestrange. Voldemort rolled his eyes and said sharply,

"Mulciber. Lestrange didn't take your wife without asking. You married a whore. Get over that fact quickly, will you?"

A few snickered, but Voldemort snapped,

"Silence! Lestrange, stay after the meeting. What you did was unacceptable, and you will be discussing it privately with me. You'll be paying Mulciber for his trouble, by the way. What seems like a fair price? How about… oh… two thousand Galleons?"

"T-Two thousand…" Rodolphus' face went chalky, but Mulciber smirked, and Bellatrix looked like she was trying not to laugh. That was precisely the amount her father had paid to Rodolphus in exchange for a promise to marry Bellatrix. This was all coming deliciously full circle. Voldemort drummed his fingers.

"Moving on. In a few weeks, there will be a targeted assassination that will likely put the Ministry more than a little on edge and may awaken some hostility in the likes of Albus Dumbledore. I need every last one of you to be very prepared to be called through your Dark Mark at any moment. I may need you - at twilight or dawn - to fight in a real battle. Yes, friends. We are staring down real war now. I can feel it."

A low buzz of energy went around the table, and Bellatrix looked excited where she sat a few seats down. Cygnus eyed his daughter, and Voldemort knew what he was thinking. This targeted assassination - would Bellatrix be the one to do it? Voldemort continued,

"We must be  _ready_  for battle, friends. Practise duels, but no injuries. Don't go getting yourselves pitched into Azkaban over some stray backyard curse gone wrong. But sharpen your skills and your wit. I need my soldiers ready to fight. I predict that the war is about to erupt. And when it does, it will rage. Is there anyone here who will not fight and die for me?"

There was silence, until at last Bellatrix cried out,

"I went to Azkaban once, Master, and I'd go for a hundred years again for you. I'd let them suck out my soul, let them rip off my limbs for you. I am anxious to fight, to kill and destroy your enemies for you."

"Bella," he purred, curling up his lips and drumming his thumb on the table. "What an example you set with your youthful and loving enthusiasm. If only your fellow Death Eaters could muster half your energy. I should like to see it. Abraxas. Prepare a training schedule for everyone. Dismissed."

As the room cleared out, Bellatrix started to go, mumbling something rather apologetic to her father, but he called after her,

"Bella, stay."

She did, looking surprised, and Rodolphus Lestrange stayed behind, as ordered. Cygnus left, looking bewildered, and after the doors shut, Voldemort was left sitting whilst Rodolphus and Bellatrix were standing on opposite sides of the table. He was so gangly, Voldemort thought derisively. He was so pimply and childish. How could Bellatrix have ever married  _him_?

"Was she drunk when you got her pregnant?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix smirked a little. Lestrange looked embarrassed, but he shook his head and insisted,

"Master, I… Thea was upset about losing her job with the Ministry."

"Yes. She told Abraxas the same thing. Wonder how many others she told that story to," Voldemort mused. Rodolphus Lestrange cleared his throat and said to Bellatrix,

"I would never have been unfaithful to you, Bellatrix. I wanted very badly to marry you. It wasn't just about the money."

"I hope you have two thousand Galleons for Mulciber," Bellatrix scoffed. Then she said knowingly, "but you  _must_ have it, because my father gave you precisely that amount! For me! He paid you two thousand Galleons as a price for promising to marry me. So you do have the money to pay off the husband of the woman you got pregnant."

Rodolphus' face went scarlet, and Voldemort pretended to explain, as though Bellatrix did not know,

"Oh, Bella… it's a shame. You see, Rodolphus spent the money your father paid for you on a house. So that he would have somewhere to house you, ostensibly. Only, I suppose, that must have been the house where he got Thea Mulciber pregnant. And now that two thousand Galleons is gone. Oh, dear. Hm. Well… Lestrange, you owe Mulciber two thousand Galleons. I presume you'll be needing a loan?"

"A l-loan, sir?" Lestrange looked at once relieved and terrified, and Bellatrix looked thrilled. Suddenly she clapped her hands together and dashed over to Voldemort. She whispered into his ear,

"Make him promise he'll never marry, that he'll stay chaste and die a bachelor, and then gift him the money."

Voldemort smirked. He petted at Bellatrix's face, and then he pulled her in close for a long, deep kiss, something so intimate that only Jamie McLaggen had seen them do anything similar. He let her go and eyed Lestrange, he seemed horrified for himself where he stood. Voldemort said softly,

"I'll pay Mulciber on your behalf. And I'll even pay back Cygnus Black. Your debts are cleared - to the father of the girl you tried to buy, and to the husband of your bastard's mother. But in exchange for my mercy, Rodolphus Lestrange, you will spend your years as a celibate bachelor. Am I understood?"

Rodolphus Lestrange chewed his lip, and his eyes watered, but he nodded firmly and said very seriously,

"I will begin training immediately to prepare for the coming war, Master, in which I will serve as your unwavering soldier. I will never touch a witch, nor marry, and I am grateful for your mercy."

"Go," Voldemort said, dragging his fingers up and down Bellatrix's torso and making her shiver. "I need the room. What comes next is private, you understand."

**Author's Note: Gotta love Voldemort on a power trip, no? So, the war is coming… but the catalyst is going to be the death of Josephine Glass. So let's see that. :} But first! One last chapter of uber-fluff at Adderbury House, just because we need some super-floof before the gore! A very happy Easter today to those celebrating. :)**


	50. Hate

"Master?"

"Hmmph." He rolled a little where he lay, and Bellatrix mumbled from beside him,

"Master, it's been… erm… it's been twelve days."

He blinked his eyes open to see her standing beside the bed looking faint and drawn. She hadn't slept all night, he could tell at once. She looked very embarrassed, and as he slowly sat up, she whispered,

"I took off the Witch's Stopper Charm, just to see. I've never bled so much in my life, Master. It's been twelve days now. I do not like to complain about pain, but the cramping… it's so severe. I'm so dizzy. I feel… I feel…"

"Bellatrix?" He gasped then, for she slumped to the floor, completely unconscious. He leapt out of their bed, scrambling to the ground, feeling for a pulse. She was bleeding all over the ground, bleeding between her legs, and suddenly he realised what was going on.

He shut his eyes and thought back. It was late November now. A month ago, they'd been in Wiltshire; he'd been preparing Adderbury House. She had not been bleeding then. A month before then, they'd been in Morocco. She had not complained of any bleeding then. He'd cast a contraceptive charm on her when she'd come home from Azkaban… hadn't he? Hadn't he?

"Bellatrix." He yanked up her nightgown and shoved her legs apart, glaring at the way her blood was seeping out down her thighs in gory, endless streams. She was miscarrying. She could be as far as eight or ten weeks in. Voldemort clapped his hand to his face and let out a low groan, a keen of grief and distress. Then he frantically tried to remember the spell to expunge foreign tissue from a body. He'd had to use it on himself when he'd made a Horcrux and a bit of his victim's tissue had been retained inside his veins during the torturous process. It was the same spell, he knew, that Healers used with witches who had incomplete miscarriages. The same spell they used to pull out unwanted babies from witches' wombs. His wand trembled as he aimed it between Bellatrix's legs and whispered desperately,

" _Expulso Xenocorpus."_

A silvery thread of light wound into her body then, and suddenly there was an awful gush, a terrible flood of blood and clotted tissue that landed in horrid piles on the area rug. Voldemort shut his eyes and whispered,

" _Expulso Sanguine."_

She bled like mad now; he was drawing out her blood more quickly than it would naturally come. It formed puddles all around them, soaking into the carpet and his pyjama trousers, hot and wet and sticky. Bellatrix was still limp and unconscious in Voldemort's arms, and he screamed,

"Plinky! PLINKY!"

He cradled Bellatrix close and whispered a few things to her, things he wouldn't remember later, things that didn't really matter except to put his voice into her ear. He did hear himself say,

"In a few weeks, you're going to murder Josephine Glass."

"Master?" Plinky appeared in the doorway. "M-Master? Is Madam Bellatrix… is she alive, Master?"

"Get her some rose tea made up. On a cart," Voldemort snapped. "And some warm brown bread and butter. Bring it all here. Bring me Draught of Peace, Invigoration Draught, and Anodyne Draught from my Potions stores. Loads of rags. Towels. A fresh pair of knickers and a fresh nightgown for her. Go, Plinky."

"Y-Y-Yes, M-Master! G-G-Going!" Plinky Disapparated, and Voldemort began casting spells in rapid succession. He was glad he knew the incantation for the Witch's Stopper Charm - Quercus - and that he could at least strip Bellatrix naked and Siphon and Scour until she and the floor were clean. He got her up into their bed, and when Plinky came back, he dressed her in a fresh nightgown and knickers, and he arranged her propped up against the pillows, beneath the blankets. He quickly changed his own pyjamas and barked,

"Plinky, take those soiled clothes and launder them. Have you got the tea and bread? The potions? Good. You can go."

"Y-Yes, M-M-Master. So s-s-sorry for, for, for Madam B-Bellatrix!" Plinky sounded very upset as he ran away, and Voldemort huffed, shutting the bedroom doors. He brightened the sconces on the walls and walked over to Bellatrix with a dropper of Invigoration Draught. He put a few drops between her lips, and then he pulled an ornamental toile chair from beside the wall and sat beside the bed, preparing a cup of tea for her.

She liked rose tea, he considered. She had for as long as he'd known her. He'd developed a liking himself for it whilst she'd been away in Azkaban. It had made him think of her when he drank it. It had made him think of her battle dancing. It had made him think of kissing her. Now he poured scalding water over a bag of the rose tea, and he scooped a few spoonfuls of sugar in, and he sliced up some of the warm, rustic brown bread Plinky had brought. He slathered some butter onto the bread and put it on a little china plate, and then he heard Bellatrix murmur,

"Master? I'm sorry… I must have fainted."

"You've miscarried," he said, far too sharply. He turned his face to her, pulling the tea bag from her cup and laying it aside. He handed her the cup of tea, and for the first time in a very long while, he saw her fingers shake as she took the cup. Her eyes welled very heavily, and she whispered simply,

"Oh."

"Yes. I realised I've been extraordinarily clumsy in administering contraception to you," Voldemort said dryly. "Are you hungry? I've got bread. You've been bleeding for almost two weeks; by the looks of the tissue I extracted from you, you had an incomplete miscarriage and had retained material. You must have been very uncomfortable."

Bellatrix's lips parted and then trembled, and she sipped from her rose tea as she shook her head a little.

"I'm fine. I'll… erm… I'll attend more neatly to my own contraception, Master. I apologise for being sloppy."

"It wouldn't have been the very worst thing in the entire world, you do realise," he said, quite roughly. His voice felt thick; his throat felt tight. "It wouldn't have been so very awful, would it have? You looked out upon the lawn beyond the kitchens and you envisioned a child there. I could tell."

Bellatrix shoved the teacup back at him, spilling a little, and she growled softly,

"I am only eighteen. And, anyway, I hate children."

"Ah. Yes, I recall that now," he said gently, setting the teacup down and wandlessly Siphoning the spilled bit. He held up the warm, buttered brown bread to Bellatrix, and she finally snatched it, muttering a thank you as she took a little bite. Voldemort glanced at the clock; it was half past two. Something must have prompted her to leave the bathroom in the midst of the bleeding and wake him.

"You were in terrible pain," he said. "You were grey, and your lips were pale. You still look like a ghost. I should like to dose you with some Anodyne Draught. It will throw you for a bit of a loop, obviously. It's strictly controlled for a reason."

Bellatrix hesitated and shook her head. "I'm fine, Master."

"You are not fine," he said, snatching at the blankets around her. His eyes seared then, and his voice splintered in the air as he reminded her, "You were unconscious and bleeding in my arms. You lost our child."

Something gave out inside of her then. You lost our child. Something collapsed within her. The hard shell she'd developed over the last year and a half cracked. Her humanity showed through suddenly, and as her eyes rimmed red, she whispered,

"I am very sorry."

"No." He shook his head and reached for her face, and he bent to kiss her forehead. "No. I was careless with spells. You are very right; you are only eighteen. I am far too old to be so blundering with important matters like this. I must - and will - know far better. You deserve for me to know better. And I love you, and I do not like to see you in pain. So, please, Bella, just take a bit of potion and let me hold you for a few hours. Yes?"

"All right." She took another bite of the warm bread, and she took another sip of her rose tea, and then she cautiously took half a dropper of the blue Anodyne Draught that Voldemort administered her. She lay back a bit further and stared at the ceiling, and as Voldemort came to lie beside her, she murmured,

"Tomorrow's the first of December. That means it's only a few weeks until I get to kill Josephine Glass."

Voldemort smirked and encouraged her to curl up against him. He stroked Bellatrix's curls, but when he shut his eyes, he was haunted by the image of clots and bloody chunks rushing from between her legs whilst she lay motionless and grey in his arms. He shivered and stared at her for a moment, assuring himself that she was alive. He gulped, and she looked very serene as she mumbled,

"A week before I cast the Cruciatus Curse on Josephine, I got my period. We were in Potions, and Professor Slughorn encouraged us to take our black robes off so our sleeves didn't drag. So I did. Only, I didn't realise I'd gotten my period."

Voldemort felt extremely uncomfortable. He'd done far too much thinking about womanly bleeding today. But Bellatrix reached up, as if she could touch something on the ceiling, and she said in a bleary voice,

"Lucille Rosier had just whispered to be that I had blood on my skirt, and I was about to put my black robe back on and ask to go to the lavatory. Clean myself up. But Josephine pointed from behind me and shouted, ' _Look! Bleak and Bloody Bellatrix is bleeding all over!_ ' and the boys laughed and laughed. Professor Slughorn excused me."

She was quiet then for a long time, but Voldemort scowled down at her and whispered,

"You're going to leave her with her throat slit and a note beside her, Bella."

"Yes. Yes, I am." Bellatrix whispered. She curled against him and started to sing very quietly, an old song that Voldemort had not heard in many years, since he'd been on the Continent as a young man looking for immortality. Bellatrix petted his chest and sang,

_"I can bleed, I can bleed, but I've all that I need in this one shining moment in this now, here with you. My love, though I die, let neither of us cry. I have all that I need in this now, here with you."_

"You are not dying," Voldemort reminded her. "The bleeding has mostly stopped."

He reached for his wand from the table beside the bed, held it against Bellatrix's lower abdomen, and incanted,

" _Nongravidare Trio. Nongravidare Maxima. Vacuaventris Maxima. Vacuaventris Trio."_

Once the spells took hold, he knew she was safe for him for a few months, but he'd reinforce the spells monthly to be sure. He set his wand down again, and he heard Bellatrix mumble,

"I hate children."

"I know." He twined his fingers into her curls and pushed them away from her face, kissing her forehead, and whispered, "I know. I know."

"I will kill and kill and kill for you," she said softly. "Stars upon stars for you, Master."

"Sleep, Bellatrix," he insisted, but she curled tightly against him and started to cry.

"I hate children."

"Bella, just sleep," he tried again, thinking perhaps he should give her Draught of Peace. He pulled himself down beside her, cradling her up against him, and she was trembling with tears as she squeezed at his arms and insisted,

"I hate children. I hate them."

"I know." He brushed his lips against her cheekbone and whispered into her ear, "I love you. Please sleep. It's over now."

"I hate everyone except for you," she whispered, and as her breathing slowed and her quivering crying began to cease, she kissed his chest and said one last time, "I hate everyone except for you, Master."

He shut his eyes and nodded. "I know."

**Author's Note: Well, if you know me, you know that I like to write pregnancy and miscarriage and a natural but extremely complicated experience, especially for Bellamort. And as she nears Josephine's death, both she and Voldemort are started to become just a little bit haunted.**


	51. Josephine

"Are you sure you're strong enough? I don't want you to Splinch."

"I'm not going to Splinch, Master." Bellatrix yanked at the buckles on her wide leather belt. She had dressed in tight, black wool leggings, a comfortable black velvet tunic, and flat leather boots that reached her knees. She was putting the wide belt, with its built-in wand holster, around her narrow waist now. She moved to her boudoir and wrenched her curls into twin braids, which she bound with velvet ribbons. She padded quickly into her bathroom and dipped her wooden toothbrush into her jar of activated charcoal powder. She scrubbed at her teeth, and as she stared into the mirror at her blackened teeth, she heard Voldemort say from the doorway,

"You look ferocious. You told me, a long time ago, that you hoped someday someone would think you were ferocious. Well. You look ferocious."

Bellatrix rinsed the charcoal out of her mouth and smirked. She set her wand down and splashed a little water over her face. For the last few weeks, she'd been recovering from her miscarriage. It had been strange. Her womb had never felt  _empty_  before. Not once in her life had the  _emptiness_  of her uterus occurred to Bellatrix - not until the miscarriage. She hated children. She was only eighteen. She told herself that over and over as the bleeding tapered off. But she still felt oddly  _empty_ , as though Voldemort had sucked something substantial from her when he'd cleaned out the detritus of the botched pregnancy.

"It's almost midnight," Bellatrix noted. "Her parents should be sleeping soon enough; the house should be quiet. I intend on Apparating into her bedroom. I scoped it out yesterday. I looked through the window. I can picture it well enough. As soon as I'm in, I'm going to Silence and Imperius her, Master. I'll work quickly. I'll be back soon."

"Have you got the parchment? The self-inking quill?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix nodded. She moved over to her dressing station and pulled on leather gloves, picking up her cross-body black leather bag, and then she said,

"I haven't touched the parchment or quill since I last Scoured them. I'll leave these gloves on to ensure I don't leave fingerprints, Master. I'll be very careful."

"Good girl." He nodded, coming up to her and taking her face in his hands. He kissed her forehead, then each cheek and finally her lips, and he murmured, "You were made for this. You cruel and angry creature."

"I should go." Bellatrix brushed by him, leaving him standing before her boudoir, and she shut her eyes. She pictured Josephine Glass' house - a brick semi-detached house in the Midlands, an unassuming place. There were lace curtains downstairs and pale blue ones up in Josephine's room. She pictured that room, with its ceramic lamp near the window, and she pitched herself into the void, Disapparating hard from where she stood.

When she came to, she was inside Josephine's bedroom, and she adjusted her grip on her wand. Josephine was tucked into her bed, her flouncy bedding tucked tightly around her. Bellatrix aimed her wand at Josephine and whispered,

" _Silencio. IMPERIO._ "

Then she willed Josephine to sit up, and as the green smoke of the Imperius Curse washed over Josephine's form, Josephine blinked a few times, looking mildly concerned.

"Come over to your desk," Bellatrix whispered. She wanted to spend time torturing Josephine like she'd done with Jamie McLaggen, but this had to be quick. Bellatrix wanted to spend time talking to Josephine about all the times Josephine had laughed at Bellatrix, the times she'd been a bully, the way she'd earned her Cruciatus Curse. But instead she just watched as Josephine silently climbed out of her bed and pulled out the chair at her simple wooden desk, sitting down quietly. Bellatrix opened her leather bag and pulled out a stack of parchments, which she lay before Josephine, along with the cheap self-inking quill. She Scoured them with her wand again, just to be sure, and then she murmured,

"Pick up the quill and write what I tell you, Josephine."

Josephine picked up the quill and waited, and as soon as Bellatrix began to whisper, Josephine wrote.

" _Dear Mum and Dad, I am sorry. I am so very sorry. All the other girls are going to get married after school. I still look like a pimply mess. No one wants me. No one will ever want me. I've got no future after Hogwarts. I'll go back to school after the holiday, and then I'll graduate, and I'll have nothing. No future. No one will ever want me. I am ugly. My friends don't even really like me. No boys want me. I see no future, Mum and Dad. I just see an empty black place, so that's where I'm going. And I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. Please don't cry. Love you always. Josephine._ "

Bellatrix's heart raced as Josephine set down the quill after signing her name. Her hand was shaking, Bellatrix could see. She realised, even under the Imperius Curse, what was going on. Well, good. A shaky hand was good; it would do better for a suicide note to be shaky. Bellatrix whispered,

"Cry."

Josephine stared up at Bellatrix for a moment, frowning, but she was unable to control the way tears started streaming from her eyes. Bellatrix smirked when the tears dropped, one at a time, onto the note. Bellatrix nodded and watched a little bit of the ink smear. That was a nice effect, too.

"Bleak and Bloody Bellatrix," she whispered, nodding. "I'll be bleak now, Josephine. I'll be bloody now. So very bleak. So very bloody. I will make every last one of you pay. You. Jamie. Guess who's next? Harriet. I wonder if she sees it coming."

Josephine just stared, shaking her head a little, and Bellatrix mentally willed her to pick up her wand. Josephine did, and Bellatrix studied it. It was an oddly girly-looking thing, with a swirled handle and a smooth finish and a pale colour. It was entirely the opposite of Bellatrix's wand. No matter. It would spill blood just the same under an Imperius Curse. Bellatrix whispered seriously,

"Move the letter away. Toward the lamp. First turn the lamp on."

Josephine did, flicking on the gas switch on the wizarding lantern and bathing the room in a warm glow. It would look like she'd been sitting up writing the note, but that she'd pushed it away to keep it clean. Bellatrix huffed a breath and said,

"Bring your wand up to your throat, Josephine. Cast a Severing Charm from left to right."

Josephine hesitated, and Bellatrix felt her Imperius Curse falter just a little. She meant the Curse, but Imperiusing someone into suicide was difficult, profoundly Dark magic. A non-suicidal mind would resist with all its might, and Josephine was resisting hard. But Bellatrix narrowed her eyes and snarled through clenched teeth,

" _Silencio. Imperio._ Sever your throat from left to right, Josephine."

Josephine Glass brought her wand up to her throat and mouthed the word  _Diffindo_ , and then she dragged her wand from left to right. Her eyes went wide from shock and pain, and a thin red line was drawn across her throat. Josephine's right hand shook, and she dropped her wand, and suddenly blood gurgled up and bubbled out in a throbbing pulse. Bellatrix took a step back toward the window, watching as the scarlet blood eked out all over Josephine's spotless white nightgown. More and more of it came, and Josephine opened her mouth in a silent scream. She collapsed forward, and the blood just kept coming, pumping up and dripping down, covering the desk in a puddle that leached all the way to the edge of the suicide note. Josephine's hair was soaked through with the crimson blood, as were the other sheets of parchment. It pooled around the base of the ceramic lamp. Finally, Josephine's back stopped rising and falling, and Bellatrix aimed her wand at Josephine and whispered,

" _Vitam Revelio._ "

There should have been a little golden glow around Josephine if she were alive, for the spell revealed whether one was living or dead. But Josephine's body was still and quiet, and she was gone. Bellatrix smirked to herself and nodded. She shut her eyes, picturing Adderbury House. She imagined the blue and red reception room upstairs, and when she Disapparated, going through the pinching void, that was where she was determined to go.

She landed just a little ways off, coming to in the corridor just outside the reception room, but when she stalked through the double doors, she found Voldemort in there, in his pyjamas and velvet dressing-gown, sitting with his reading glasses on, examining a copy of the  _Daily Prophet._  He set it down and asked primly,

"Well?"

"She's dead, Master," Bellatrix said confidently. "When her parents find her, and when the newspaper reports it, they will all say it was a terrible tragedy - a girl who took her own life because she had no hope."

"And do you feel better now?" Voldemort raised his eyebrows and drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair. "You've tortured and killed Jamie McLaggen. You've tortured and killed Josephine Glass."

"Harriet," Bellatrix said simply, and Voldemort gave a knowing nod. He'd heard plenty of stories from her now. He knew the way Harriet had joined along with her boyfriend Jamie in tormenting Bellatrix, the way Harriet had led the gang of Gryffindor girls in teasing and mocking Bellatrix for years. He sighed heavily and asked,

"It feels good, doesn't it? Revenge."

"It does, Master," Bellatrix nodded, and he said softly to her,

"Take your clothes off and go lie on the bed, Bella."

She froze. They had not been intimate in many weeks now. The last time she'd really done anything with him had been the day he'd punished her by coming on her face. After that, she'd bled for weeks, and then she'd been healing. Now she tingled as she walked slowly through the double doors into their bedroom, but as she stripped off her buckled belt, her fingers didn't shake one bit. She set the belt aside, kicked off her boots, and stripped off her tunic and leggings. She unhooked her bra and pulled off her knickers, and then she went to lie on the toile bedding, staring up at the ceiling and feeling everything come alive. Josephine was dead, so Bellatrix came alive.

"You're still dressed," she noted as Voldemort came walking into the bedroom. He just smirked, for all he'd done was pull off his heavy velvet dressing gown. He wordlessly climbed up onto the bed with Bellatrix and whispered,

"Spread your legs."

Suddenly she realised what he meant to do - something she'd dreamed about, fantasised about. Something he'd never done before. She gasped as he took hold of her hips and arranged himself between her legs, and she tipped her head back against the pillow.

"Master," she whispered, and he hummed, kissing a line up the inside of her thigh. Bellatrix shut her eyes then, just soaking in the feel of everything. When he started working on her with his mouth, it was overwhelming. He started licking from bottom to top, very slowly, over and over. He used broad, flat strokes with his tongue that felt very, very good. He suckled on her clit for a moment, and she clutched at his head and squeezed her knees around his shoulders.

"Mmm… Master!"

"Bella." His voice vibrated against her, and his breath was hot. She was so incredibly wet, she thought. Her head was spinning. He pushed his tongue inside of her and hooked it, and then he sucked hard and replaced his tongue with two fingers. He nestled his mouth against her clit, lathing his tongue hard there and twisting his fingers, and Bellatrix arched her back.

"I'm going to come!" she cried, slapping her hands on the blankets and feeling everything go hot and tight. "Master!"

"Mmm…" The low drone of his voice against her was entirely too much. His fingers curling, his tongue dragging, his lips sucking…

She came,  _hard_ , her body clenching, her breath hitching, her ears ringing and her vision blurring. This was unprecedented, the intensity of this climax. She heard him groan, watched his hand thrust down into his trousers and jerk furiously a few times, and she knew that he was touching himself to completion where he knelt. He kissed her flat belly, his lips warm and wet and shaking, and Bellatrix knew he was coming in his pyjama trousers as he did.

She just panted, lying on the bed still recovering, and she shut her eyes as he set about Siphoning up and Scouring the mess he'd made in his pyjamas and mouth. He went into his bathroom to fetch two tumblers of water, one of which Bellatrix gratefully accepted.

"Can I just sleep naked, Master?" she asked quietly, and he hummed his permission, setting his water down beside the bed. Bellatrix set her own water down and joined him beneath the blankets, curling up beside him and closing her eyes. "Thank you, Master."

"You deserve far more than that. You are a good soldier, and soon enough, you'll be battle dancing for me," he said. Something sounded very strange in his voice, though, and when Bellatrix opened her eyes to look up at him, his eyes were a little wet. Was he… was he  _crying?_  Bellatrix scowled and pushed herself up a little, fingering a pigtail braid.

"Master, what's the matter?"

"Nothing," he said harshly. Bellatrix did not come close to believing him. She waited, and eventually he shut his eyes and shrugged, shaking his head.

"There will be battles soon," he said simply. "You may very well die in battle. That's all. I… I dislike the thought of someone taking you out in battle. Or even of you getting a life sentence in Azkaban. I just… my instinct is to forbid you from fighting, to keep you locked up here so that I -"

"No, please!" Bellatrix cried, and he opened his eyes and rolled them up at her.

"I know," he said. "Try to understand. I love you. The thought of your mortality sickens me."

"Oh." Bellatrix licked her lip and said cautiously, "All married couples part eventually, Master."

"I spent years seeking immortality," he reminded her. "I have Horcruxes, or didn't you read my letters?"

"I did," she whispered, and he shut his eyes again.

"I'll let you fight," he promised. "That doesn't mean that the thought of losing you doesn't make me ill. You did good work tonight. I am proud of you. Happy for you. I love you. Now get some rest."

She lay back down and stroked at his short, silvery beard, and she whispered,

"Goodnight, Master."

**Author's Note: Watch out, Harriet! Bellatrix is coming for you next! She's on a dang rampage! But Voldemort is suddenly realizing that all of this may be putting** _ **Bellatrix's**_   **life at risk, and he is not so keen on that. Will he do anything about it? Hm. Thanks as always for reading!**


	52. Reward

Harriet Narcks was a Mudblood, Voldemort came to find out. Her parents were rather wealthy by Muggle standards and lived in Kensington in London in a beautiful, expensive townhouse. Mr Narcks was a German automotive engineer by trade who had risen through the administrative ranks of a luxury British car company, Jaguar. Harriet's mother was a barrister. But Harriet was a Mudblood, regardless of how many pounds sterling her parents possessed. And Bellatrix was going to kill her. Bellatrix was going to murder Harriet Narcks.

A fresh body was needed, Voldemort considered, in order to make a Horcrux.

He swallowed hard where he sat in his office in Malfoy Manor, his eyes fluttering a little behind his reading glasses as he picked up his copy of  _The Daily Prophet_. On the second page, buried beneath stories about a midnight break-in at Madam Pudifoot's in Hogsmeade at a Quidditch match controversially called off due to icy conditions, he found the story.

_JOSEPHINE GLASS (2 January 1952 - 18 December 1969)._

_The Daily Prophet regrets to inform readers of the tragic death of seventeen-year-old Josephine Glass, a seventh-year student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Josephine, a Gryffindor student who was particularly keen on magical painting and had been expected to pursue work as a portrait artist, took her own life at her parents' house whilst home for Christmas. Josephine was discovered by her parents, and the cause of death was confirmed by the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, which examined the scene and Josephine's wand. Unfortunately, it is certain that Miss Glass was suffering from depression and decided to take her own life. Her parents claim that Josephine had been struggling seriously since Josephine had been the victim of a Cruciatus Curse at the hands of Bellatrix Black last June._

_Mr and Mrs Glass and their extended family will be hosting a memorial service and visitation for Josephine at the Glass family home in Coventry on the twenty-second of December from one to four in the afternoon. In memory of their daughter, Mr and Mrs Glass will be donating materials for the Josephine Glass Art Club at Hogwarts. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore confirmed that the school will be establishing an official art club in Josephine's memory to encourage students to sculpt, draw, and paint._

_If you or someone close to you is experiencing thoughts of self harm, please send an owl at once to the Department of Mental Well-Being at St Mungo's Hospital._

Voldemort set the newspaper down, folding it carefully. So they had mentioned Bellatrix by name, but they had also made it very clear that Josephine had committed suicide. Well, let them come for her, he thought. Let them try to prove that Bellatrix had murdered Josephine. If they could have proven it, they would have done so already. They had nothing on her. Let them come and fight. They would lose.

"Enter," Voldemort called, for there was knocking on his office door, and he was expecting his father-in law. The door opened, and Cygnus Black III came walking in, looking very cautious as he shut the door. He flashed a weak smile to Voldemort and approached the desk, and he asked,

"M-May I sit, Master?"

"By all means," Voldemort said dryly. He waited for Cygnus to sit, and when he did, Voldemort said, "You and I have not spoken properly since the day Druella and Bellatrix quarrelled. I regret how things went that day. It wasn't how I intended on informing you that I'd married your daughter."

"Oh." Cygnus looked white-faced, and he shook his head. "I… we are honoured, of course."

Voldemort smirked a little. He tipped his head. "Druella did not seem particularly honoured."

Cygnus gulped. "I think she was just surprised, My Lord. The age difference alarmed her, that's all."

"The age difference." Voldemort raised his eyebrows, looking and feeling amused. He dragged his fingers over his beard and shrugged. "I have gone a bit grey, I suppose. Perhaps if I shave it off, it won't be as obvious that I'm more than twice Bella's age. I suppose I could go to St Mungo's and get magical surgery on my eyes so I don't have to wear glasses. That might help a little. But in the end, you and Druella still have memories of Tom Riddle being a few years older than you in school, and that's what  _really_  troubles Druella, isn't it? That I'm older than the two of you, and that there was that one time, when I was Head Boy, that I caught the two of you snogging in a corridor and let you both off despite it being past curfew? It's those sorts of memories that trouble Druella."

Cygnus bowed his head. He let out a very long sigh, and he admitted, "Master, if I'm honest, I don't know that any life Bellatrix could live would make Druella comfortable. It isn't you, sir. It's  _her_. It's Bellatrix.  _She_ makes Druella uncomfortable."

"Ah. There it is." Voldemort tapped his fingers on the desk. "Well. Perhaps the ladies ought to just see one another at birthdays and holidays. Minimise the discomfort. Narcissa and Druella are much closer, I think? And Druella's close with her own sisters?"

"Yes, Master," Cygnus nodded. Voldemort turned his wedding band around his finger, thinking distantly about the way he'd walked into Bellatrix's white and copper bathroom this morning to find her humming in the shower. Voldemort had stood in there, just watching and listening, until she'd come out wrapped in a towel and he'd kissed her against the white tile wall. He shivered a little now, where he sat, and he muttered,

"I didn't ask you here to talk about Bellatrix. I brought you here so you could update me about the Mudblood vault raids. What's the status on those?"

"One… erm… one goblin went rogue," Cygnus admitted, "and if we pursue it too hard, everything will go public, and it'll all fall apart. I think we need to write those two vaults off, Master."

Voldemort scowled. "Why didn't you vet the the goblins more closely?"

"I thought I had screened them sufficiently," Cygnus said defensively, but Voldemort narrowed his eyes.

"Plainly you had not. What is this goblin called?"

Cygnus hesitated. "He's called Grazlik. He's been sacked from Gringotts; we think he's living in a colony in the Scottish Lowlands. But I think pursuing him is very unwise, Master; it would only make it impossible to get the rest of the goblins on your side eventually. He's rogue. He's just one."

"An example should be made of him," Voldemort said tightly. "How much Mudblood money did Grazlik make off with?"

Cygnus huffed. "Eighteen thousand Galleons, Master."

Voldemort pinched his lips. "Well. That's not so much, in terms of sheer loss. In fact… put out a reward for his capture. Make it clear to the other goblins that not only does Lord Voldemort punish disobedience; he makes loyalty worth your while. Twenty thousand Galleons for Grazlik - dead or alive. But there's a catch. Only goblins are eligible for the reward."

Cygnus smiled a little. "You are wise, Master. This will please them."

"Do better next time, Cygnus," Voldemort said firmly. "I'm tired of cleaning up your messes. Dimissed."

"Master." Cygnus pushed himself to his feet and started to walk from the office, but Voldemort snapped,

"Cygnus."

Cygnus turned round in the middle of the office, looking alarmed at the bite in Voldemort's voice. Voldemort rose very slowly and held up  _The Daily Prophet._

"Josephine Glass. Have you ever heard of her?"

"Yes, of course. She's the girl that Bellatrix… the girl that Bellatrix hurt so badly," Cygnus said, and Voldemort turned up half his mouth.

"Josephine Glass tormented your daughter Bellatrix into oblivion at Hogwarts. She was hardly the only one; Bellatrix was bullied in a way neither you or Druella can ever understand. You see, I am a Legilimens, so I have access to Bella's memories in a way you can't and probably shouldn't. But you should know, Cygnus, that your daughter suffered for years and years. Endlessly. Day after day, in word and in deed, these children persecuted Bellatrix.  _Bleak and Bloody Bellatrix._  They made up rhymes about her. They mocked her dancing; they booed her beautiful dancing, Cygnus."

Cygnus' eyes welled, and he shook his head a little, and he whispered, "I knew she had few friends…"

"She had  _no_  friends!" Voldemort snarled. He started to walk around the desk, and he said, "They bent her and warped her, and then they punished her when she snapped. And one of the worst offenders in this relentless affliction of misery was Josephine Glass."

Cygnus blinked a few times, shaking his head again. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Voldemort said,

"They found Josephine in her bedroom yesterday. Early in the morning. They found her with a suicide note, written in her own hand. She'd used her own wand to cut her own throat. But Josephine did not commit suicide, Cygnus. It isn't like the newspaper says, you see. Josephine was murdered. And I think you know damned well who did it."

Cygnus wiped a tear from his eye, his cheeks flushing red. He dragged his hand over his balding head, his fingers trembling like mad.

"Please, My Lord," he mumbled, and Voldemort scoffed.

"Do you not like to hear about your own daughter?" he asked. "You see, I  _love_  Bellatrix. I love her from her hair to her shoes. I love her when she's kissing me, when I was ripping the towel off of her this morning. I love her when she dances, and I love her when she kills."

There was silence then, except for the clock on the wall ticking. Cygnus' shaky breath was loud, too, until finally Voldemort said,

"She would have been a terrible wife to Rodolphus, and he a terrible husband to her. But she and I are just perfect for one another, I think. You said earlier that you were honoured, Cygnus. Well. I am honoured, too. I am so very honoured to be your son-in-law. Do not muck up again like you did with the goblins."

"It won't happen again." Cygnus shook his head firmly.

"Issue the reward," Voldemort ordered, and Cygnus nodded.

"I'll do it at once, Master."

"Tell your wife to recognise just what sort of daughters she's got," Voldemort whispered. "Good day."

"Good day, My Lord." Cygnus bowed, holding the low pose for a long moment, and then he walked very quickly out of the office, shutting the door loudly behind him.

**Author's Note: Yeah! Take that, Cygnus! *sticks tongue out* LOL. But… uh-oh… we have Voldemort contemplating Harriet as part of a Horcrux. Sounds like we need a serious conversation around a dining room table, no? Thank you so much for reading and reviewing.**


	53. Creek

"You know, I almost feel bad, making the House-Elves put up a tree when there's only us to see it," Bellatrix said as she came walking into the grand sitting-room. Voldemort smirked at her and bent to kiss her cheekbone.

"I do not feel badly," he said. "It's their job. Happy Christmas, Bella."

"Happy Christmas, Master," she grinned. She curled up with him then, sitting on the plush silvery-grey velvet sofa and staring at the crackling fireplace. They both had warm pyjamas on, and everything felt profoundly cosy. Bellatrix saw a plate of decorated biscuits on the low table before them, along with warm drinking chocolate, and she asked, "Is that breakfast?"

"No reason why it can't be," Voldemort said. "We'll be having real food with Abraxas later. He is very grateful, by the way, for us going over there. Aeta's being rather a wench about Lucius this year. Keeping him the whole day."

Bellatrix frowned. "Aeta's changed."

"Or perhaps we all have. It doesn't matter. I bought Abraxas a very expensive globe made of different-coloured marble with a brass frame. He does so like expensive ornaments for his lounges. He'll be happy to see it by his tree this morning."

Bellatrix reached for a biscuit and chewed it happily, and she said, "Your present's not coming for a few days. I'm sorry. I've placed an order, but they won't be here until after the New Year. And due to the expense, you may want it to be a combination Christmas and birthday gift."

She smiled at him, and when he looked halfway between confused and intrigued, she said happily,

"Two thestrals!"

"Thestrals!" exclaimed Voldemort, sitting up straighter. "How did you manage that?"

Bellatrix wanted to just shrug and say that she had her ways, but she admitted, "Mr Mulciber owes you a debt of gratitude, to say the least. He's got some connections with a breeder. I wrote to him. You and I can pick up the thestrals from the Mulciber house once they arrive there, and we can ride them here. I hope you don't mind me buying them. You'd said you wanted them."

Voldemort threw his hands up and scoffed. "I don't mind a bit, but I do feel like a complete cur now, giving you the lousy little gift I bought you."

He reached for a small box beside the couch and handed it to Bellatrix, looking apologetic. She grinned as she unwrapped the silver paper, and as she opened the wooden box, she frowned in confusion. Inside the box was a pair of beautiful earrings - ovals of blue-green opal surrounded by diamonds, just like her necklace and her pins. But Bellatrix said very sorrowfully,

"Master, I haven't got pierced ears."

He looked a little nervous, but he asked, "Do you trust me?"

"Master." Her eyes went wide, but he held his wand up to Bellatrix's right earlobe, and she winced. She'd never had use for earrings. She'd never cared enough about earrings to bother getting her ears pierced. That was for Andromeda and Narcissa. But suddenly, staring down into the box of beautiful opal earrings, she cared.

" _Pertusio._ "

She yelped softly at the sensation of a needle popping quickly through her earlobe. It barely hurt, and Voldemort murmured,

" _Inauris Argenti._ " She felt cold metal then, and he informed her, "Silver studs, just until the piercing heals up. Here, give me the other side.  _Pertusio. Inauris Argenti._ "

Bellatrix touched at her tender earlobes, smiling weakly at Voldemort and whispering, "Thank you, Master."

"I'm running out of jewelry to buy you," he said. "Soon enough I'll have to graduate from opal. But I wanted to see you wearing earrings. I hope it didn't seem pushy."

"It does not seem pushy." Somehow, as she touched at the ears she'd pierced, she liked the idea that he'd done it to her. She liked the fact that he'd tattooed her arm with the Dark Mark, that he'd punctured her ears. She touched at the key she wore around her neck and felt him all around her, through her veins, and she needed to kiss him then. She did, deeply, breathing him in, and suddenly she found herself being pushed down onto the soft velvet sofa.

Abraxas could wait.

* * *

"My Lord, the globe is just spectacular," Abraxas said gratefully. He sliced into his roast, and Bellatrix grinned.

"What colour marble is Britain, Mr Malfoy?" she asked, eating some mashed potato, and he laughed.

"Rather a pukey brown," he said. "But, of course, Ireland is emerald green marble. Russia's a giant drab grey; it's all quite fitting."

Bellatrix smiled, taking a sip of her rich red wine. But suddenly the mirth round the festive Christmas table dissolved, for Voldemort whipped his wand at the Wizarding Wireless to shut it off, and his fork clattered to his plate. He held a finger to his lips and shut his eyes, and Bellatrix eyed Abraxas anxiously.

"One, two, three, four," Voldemort whispered. He was searching mentally, Bellatrix realised. He could feel something. Someone. She yanked her wand out and flew to her feet, and Abraxas did the same. Voldemort's eyes snapped open, and he shook his head. "Dumbledore's not here. It's the Ministry. Aurors. Four of them. They're just beyond the grounds, beyond the creek. I can feel their minds. We need to move quietly. Silently. Do not let them in the manor. Do not get captured. Aim to kill.  _Go._ "

They ran then. Everyone was running, moving like mad. Bellatrix was suddenly very glad she'd dressed somewhat casually; she and Voldemort had determined that since it was just the two of them and Abraxas for Christmas dinner, there was no need for excessive formality. She was still in a dress, though, and she wished she hadn't been. But her hair was loose, her curls whipping around her face as her arms pumped. Her brass key flicked at her face as she dashed down the stairs, and then Voldemort murmured to her,

"Stay quiet."

She and Abraxas and Voldemort split up outside, padding in three different directions through the black gardens. Bellatrix tried desperately not to breathe too loudly. She aimed her wand outward, and she whispered,

" _Homenum Revelio._ "

Nothing. She wasn't close enough yet. Bellatrix trotted forward, hardly able to see in the cloudy, frigid gardens. Her boots crunched on the icy grass, and then the came to the banks of the creek.

"Bellatrix Black? You're under arrest!"

" _Stupefy!_ " Bellatrix couldn't see, so when she whirled around, she aimed a Stunning Spell. Good thing, too, because she hit Abraxas Malfoy, sending him flying backward, rolling unconscious along the grass. Bellatrix stomped. "Shit!"

" _Stupefy!"_

" _Protego Duo!"_

Bellatrix got her shield up before anything could hit her. She twirled around on one foot, thrusting up  _en pointe_ and propelling her body roughly backward. She elegantly landed into an extended  _arabesque_  and then tipped herself down along the bank of the creek. She had to take a risk now, she knew. If she was going to let her shield down, she needed a natural barrier to protect her enough to cast her, and there was only one way. She twirled over her shoulder as she cascaded down into the half-frozen creek.

" _Stupefy!_ " The Auror, a middle-aged witch, was barely visible, but in the blue light of the Stunning Spell that ricocheted off Bellatrix's shield, she was very evidently horrified. Bellatrix was willing to hurl herself into a creek in December. Well, of course she was. If this was what battle dancing turned out to mean, so be it.

It felt like a thousand knives stabbing all at once. It felt like a hundred million needles poking into every pore of Bellatrix's flesh. She screamed in pain as the water gushed up over her body. She flicked her wand as her body started to go numb, and through clattering teeth, she released her shield and shrieked,

" _AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

A blinding green flash of light emitted from her wand, and all Bellatrix could hope was that her aim was true. She nearly dropped her wand, and she was shaking so badly that she could hardly pull herself back up onto the bank. But she saw her target crumple to the ground, and she knew the witch was dead.

"Madam Black?" Abraxas' weak voice came from the distance, and Bellatrix called,

"G-Get the others!"

She hauled herself up, her skirt and boots drenched and freezing from the creek. She was violently shaking as she scrambled to her feet, and she heard Abraxas' voice cry from somewhere far away,

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

"M-M-Master?" Bellatrix called. Suddenly everything seemed very, very dark. She whirled around. "Mr Malfoy?"

Everything was very quiet, and very dark, and when Bellatrix took a step, she nearly stumbled into the creek again. She saved herself from slipping back into the frigid water by leaping up with the grace only a dancer could possess, and she whispered,

" _Lumos._ "

She held the tip of her wand up to the compass of the key around her neck, which she flicked with a stiff, cold thumb. It spun and spun, and then it stopped, and Bellatrix walked in the direction the compass dial pointed.

"Master?" she whispered, walking uncertainly in the direction the dial insisted. Finally she could see him, a dark shadow in the distance. His wand was illuminated, too. She was aware of rose bushes before her, and she was very grateful for having lit her wand. She was so cold now that her legs were barely working, and her mind was so fuzzy she couldn't remember the incantation for a Hot-Air Charm. She stumbled beyond the rose bushes and then ran as best she could toward Voldemort, seeing that Abraxas was beside him, the two of them muttering spells to better ward up the grounds of Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix raised her wand and joined them.

" _Protego Maxima,"_  she said, her teeth still chattering, and her spell flew into the sky. " _Protego Horribilis. Repello Inimicum. Salvio Hexia. Protego Totalum. Cave Inimicum._ "

After a long while of casting the spells, Bellatrix heard Voldemort's voice say very firmly,

" _Vaporocalor._ "

Ah. Yes. The Hot-Air Charm. Bellatrix shut her eyes against the wondrous feel of the hot air washing over her.

"Fall into the creek?" Voldemort asked sharply, and she answered him,

"I jumped, Master, so that I could use the bank as protection. So I could let my shield down and kill the Auror."

In the glow of his wand, he looked quite pleased with her, and he nodded. He looked to Abraxas.

"The witch. Did you see her body?"

"Sorry about that Stunning Spell, Mr Malfoy," Bellatrix said.

"Think nothing of it," Abraxas said. "The Aurors, My Lord, were McGlinn, Hastings, Simon, and Allens. Half-Bloods at best. McGlinn and Hastings were known friends of Dumbledore."

"The witch told me I was under arrest," Bellatrix said. "Do you think they came for me?"

"Probably," Voldemort shrugged, "though they just as likely came for me. Does it matter? They're dead now. Let's Vanish the bodies. This place stays warded up tighter than a virgin. Bella, you and I are going home. Abraxas, reach us by owl in an emergency. No one hears of this."

"Understood, Master," Abraxas nodded, and the three of them set off to Vanish the corpses of their enemies.

**Author's Note: Finally! Battle dancing! Combat! The compass on the key used to actually find Voldemort! Now… these two are stuck at home… and Voldemort's perseverating on Bellatrix's mortality. Hm. ;) Sorry for so many updates in one day. I do very much appreciate any and all feedback!**


	54. Beg

"So. What did you think of your first real combat?" Voldemort asked, spooning rich mushroom stew into his mouth. He watched Bellatrix dip some crusty bread into her own stew, and after she chewed her bite and washed it down with some water, she said carefully,

"I would have liked it better, I think, if I hadn't had to fling myself into the half-frozen creek. But it was worth it; I was able to use the bank to protect myself so I could take my shield down and kill McGlinn."

"You finally got to battle dance," Voldemort smirked, and Bellatrix laughed a little.

"I'm just glad that creek wasn't any deeper, Master. The water was cold enough as it was. I would have hated to drown in it, too."

"Yes. Drowning is especially unpleasant. I've done it five times." Voldemort decided now was as good a time as any to have this conversation. Bellatrix looked very confused opposite him. She took another bite of mushroom stew and then set down her spoon. The pale yellow dining room was golden in the glow of the wall sconces at night, and the flicker of the firelight on her face was very pretty. But her brows were furrowed as she asked,

"What do you mean, you've drowned five times?"

He sighed a little and pushed his food away a bit. "You have drown. When you make a Horcrux, it's part of the process. It's one of the deaths."

Bellatrix licked her bottom lip and pushed her bowl and plate away. She was listening now. She'd been curious, he knew, about what he'd done when he'd made his Horcruxes.

"Five times?" she asked softly. "You have five of them?"

"A diary, a ring, a locket, a cup, and a diadem," Voldemort nodded. "Each hidden. Each with a bit of my soul within them. Each contributing to keeping me as immortal as possible. And the process for making each was difficult. Torturous. But worth it. There are five deaths in total needed for each Horcrux. The first, I think you can guess."

Bellatrix looked thoughtful for a long moment, and then she shrugged. "A victim?"

"Very good." He smiled a bit. She was Dark enough to think through this. He nodded and told her, "Sometimes mine were rather random - a Muggle tramp, even. Once, it was my father and grandparents, though. Yes. My father, a Muggle. You know damned well I'm no Pureblood. I wasn't going to let him live, so I used his body. You have to use the victim's body. You have to consume a little piece of them - any piece - before each of the subsequent deaths."

"Cannibalism?" Bellatrix asked, looking like she'd throw up her stew, and Voldemort scoffed.

"It's no worse than Polyjuice Potion," he insisted. "It can be anything from a bit of fingernail to a few drops of blood. But your soul must be freshly stained by them, by their murder and their being. That's very important. Do you want to leave the room, Bellatrix?"

She shook her head, looking very serious. She folded her hands on the table, and she asked,

"The next four deaths. What are they, Master?"

He drummed his fingers on the table and murmured some words that would only have power under very specific circumstances. " _Damnatio aeterna ego dabo nunc et in perpetua. Vitas et sequentia ego dabo nunc et in perpetua. Mortis meus nunc, ex terrae._ "

Bellatrix frowned. She was intelligent. She could make sense of the words, of the powerful ancient magic. Her lips parted, and she translated as best she could.

"You're damning yourself," she said. "You're giving yourself life by damning yourself to death. First, a death from the Earth. I understand. One death from each of the Elements? How does it work?"

Voldemort's chest hurt suddenly, remembering the feel of suffocation that he'd survived so many times. He shut his eyes and mumbled, "You lie on your back. Cross your arms over your chest, and then you become very convinced that you are being buried alive. You can taste the soil. You can feel it crushing you. And there is nothing you can do."

Bellatrix's breath shook a little as she asked, "And the Air? How does one die in the air?"

"You get a bit of a bargain," Voldemort joked darkly. "Next you damn yourself to die by Fire and Air, and you burn alive. As you burn, part of you is made smoke, and the Air consumes you along with the flame. You can feel your flesh melting, your organs combusting. Your brain gives out; your screams go quiet. But it's the drowning that's the worst. It's the Water that is by far the most merciless Element."

There was a very heavy silence in the dining room then, and finally Bellatrix murmured,

"I'm not hungry. I've finished eating. I think I'll go to bed."

"After that, it's over," Voldemort said very firmly. "You choose a mundane object. Anything. Something you're willing to hide. It could be anything; it could be… it could be something like an opal earring you never even had a chance to put into your ear."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open, and he knew she could see that he'd been thinking about all of this for some time now. She shook her head and muttered,

"Harriet."

"She would do," Voldemort nodded crisply. "Yes. She would do just fine. You could kidnap her and bring her here. You could complete the process here. I would help you heal afterward. I would -"

"No." Bellatrix shook her head, and Voldemort froze.

"No?" he repeated, feeling very surprised. Bellatrix shrugged and insisted,

"No. I'm sorry. I am not going to make a Horcrux, Master."

Voldemort blinked. This was not at all the response he had been expecting from Bellatrix. His throat went extremely tight, and he shoved his bowl of stew and glass of water away so roughly that food and drink spilled all over the table. Bellatrix scowled as she pulled her wand out and muttered spells to clean up his mess, but Voldemort snarled at her through clenched teeth,

"I did not take you for a coward."

"A coward?" Bellatrix tucked her wand away and shook her head in disbelief. "I am not  _afraid_ , Master. I am disgusted. I have no desire to do this. I have no desire to splinter my soul for some vague, shadowy promise of immortality. I mean no offence, but you have split your soul with no real understanding of how any of this  _actually_ works. If you took a Killing Curse tomorrow, do you  _actually_ know what it would mean? What would happen to you?"

"Well, I know that my soul is preserved!" he exclaimed. "I know that I wouldn't just… just…"

"Die," Bellatrix nodded. She shrugged. "But people are meant to die, Master. People are mortal."

"We do not have to be mortal!" he cried, and Bellatrix let out a shaking breath as she informed him,

"I fear death far less than I fear peeling off my soul into an earring. I'm sorry. I will not do it."

"Bellatrix!" Voldemort flew to his feet as she started to stand. She stared at him from across the table, tipping her chin up defiantly. Challenging him. She wanted him to punish her, he could tell. She wanted him to send her to a little bedroom with porridge and apples. She wanted him to humiliate her, to shove her, to break a wrist or lock her into a room until she agreed to make a Horcrux. She wouldn't do it. She was refusing.

"Bella." He walked around the dining room table and put his hands on her shoulders, and as she stared stubbornly up at him, he informed her, "If you died, I would… I would…"

"Please don't threaten either of us, Master," she whispered, and she pulled away from him, walking quickly out of the dining room.

* * *

' _Bella, get out of the way!' Voldemort snarled, shoving Bellatrix roughly. He aimed his wand at Minerva McGonagall. 'Stupefy!'_

_Bellatrix was being a complete idiot. She wasn't even fighting. She was just dancing Starlina. She was in a nightgown, not even holding a wand, just dancing ballet whilst a battle raged around her. She was pulled up en pointe, dragging her leg up into an arabesque._

' _Bellatrix, get your shield up!' Voldemort yelled. He growled in rage then as Dumbledore threw a Knockback Jinx at Bellatrix that sent her spinning through the air. Somehow she stayed elegant, landing as though she meant to do it, curling her body up, reaching for the heavens. Spells flashed around them. Voldemort stomped and aimed his wand at Dumbledore._

' _AVADA KEDAVRA!'_

_Voldemort froze. He turned his face to see a spectacled boy with black hair, some teenager Voldemort didn't recognise, standing with his wand aimed at Bellatrix. The boy laughed and gave another teenaged boy, some ginger-haired creature, a celebratory embrace. But Voldemort couldn't focus on them. He dashed over to Bellatrix, to where she lay slumped in her Starlina nightgown._

' _Bella.' he knelt down beside her, shaking her roughly. People were Disapparating from around him; the room was going bright white. Everything was disappearing, everything except for him and Bellatrix. He shook her again. 'Bella, this isn't funny. Wake up. Wake up! Bellatrix! Bella! Bellatrix! Wake up!'_

"I'm awake! For goodness' sake. I'm awake! Please! Master."

He gasped for breath, feeling tears streaming down his cheeks as he released Bellatrix from where he was tightly gripping her. Voldemort's heart was racing so quickly he was sure he'd die. He would have a heart attack, he thought, and he would die. He gulped hard, blinking a few times and shaking his head.

"You died," he said in a cracked voice, and Bellatrix scowled up at him.

"You are perseverating on the idea of me dying, Master," she insisted, "but I am not dying. Even that Auror only tried to Stun me."

"I can not let you… you must create a Horcrux. I insist that you do it," Voldemort said, but Bellatrix pulled away from him and shook her head firmly. She tucked her knees up to her chest and insisted,

"It is not something I will do. I want nothing more than to please you, Master, but -"

"Bella." He swiped angrily at the tears streaking his cheeks, feeling very cross with himself for crying during his nightmare, and he whispered, "Please do it."

She stared out the window, seeming to study the stars, and she murmured, "I don't want to be different afterward. I did not know you before. Will I be changed?"

"After just one? No, I don't think so," Voldemort said breathlessly. "Five's too many, probably, but I've never exactly been an expert in moderation. Just… Bella, just…  _please._  I can't keep going on, knowing that you… I will not bury you and then just go on living. If I lost you, I'd destroy my own Horcruxes, I think. I… something deep within me informs me that my life is not built to continue without you. Please do this. I beg it of you."

She turned her head quickly at those words, her mouth falling open, and he nodded.

"I beg it of you."

She nodded finally, looking ill, and she said softly,

"Harriet's parents are throwing a grand New Year's Eve party. I can make her disappear during the festivities."

"My birthday." He smirked a little, and he told her, "It would be a very fine gift."

She nodded again and shut her eyes. "You'll help me?"

"Of course I will." He felt relief wash over him then, and he promised her steadily. "Yes. Of course I will."

**Author's Note: So, it took a lot more convincing than in my other stories, but she's finally on board for the idea of making a Horcrux. But, be prepared… if you thought the process of making a Horcrux was gruesome in** _ **Songs of Bellamort…**_   **Hoo boy. Buckle up.**


	55. Horcrux

Bellatrix stood on the sidewalk outside the Narcks townhouse as Muggles got out of gleaming black taxis and giggled their way up to the door. They had a party to attend, after all. At one point, a couple of very well-dressed Muggles climbed the concrete steps up to the Narcks home and knocked on the brass knocker. Inside the house, Bellatrix could hear Harriet's voice cry,

"I'll get it, Mum!"

Bellatrix's heart raced like mad in her chest, and she carefully pulled her wand out. She pulled herself into the shadows as the Muggle woman in the fur coat shivered and said to her husband,

"Damned cold, isn't it? Should I mention that school friend of hers that died?"

"Not unless she brings it up. Tragic. I heard the girl killed herself," the husband said. "Awful."

The door opened, and a rather tired-looking Harriet Narcks opened the door. Her lovely brown hair had been pulled back into an elegant twist, and she wore a glimmering, figure-hugging gown of gold and silver sequins.

"Mr and Mrs Walter," Harriet said, sounding as though she were faking happiness. She must still be upset about Josephine, Bellatrix thought. Oh, well. Harriet held the door open and said, "Happy New Year. Do come in."

"Hello, dear." Mrs Walter kissed Harriet's cheek, and Bellatrix carefully whispered,

" _Imperio._ "

Then she willed Harriet to come outside once the Walters had gone into the party. Mr Walter went into the house, seeming to jump into conversation with someone as he pulled off his formal fedora. Mrs Walter rubbed at Harriet's shoulder and said softly,

"Mr Walter told me not to mention it. But I'm sorry for your friend, dear."

"Oh. Thank you. I think I'll just get a breath of fresh air. I… when I think of her, of Josephine, it's…"

"I understand, dear. Don't linger too long; it's bloody freezing," Mrs Walters smiled, and she went into the house. She shut the door, and Harriet came walking down the front steps and down the sidewalk, shivering in her sleeveless, sequined dress. She looked very surprised to see Bellatrix, and she asked,

"What are  _you_  doing here?"

"Happy New Year, Harriet," Bellatrix said. She was dressed up, too; she'd come in the liquid-like black silk gown she'd worn at her own birthday party. Harriet looked like she was going to try to run back to the townhouse, but Bellatrix shook her head and said softly, "Take hold of my wrist, Harriet. You're coming with me."

The Imperius Curse wear off during Apparition, Bellatrix knew. So she moved as efficiently as she possibly could. She Disapparated from Kensington, taking Harriet by Side-Along. She thought very firmly of the tiled breakfast room beside the library, the room with the bay windows and tropical plants inside that was chilly in the winter but would be easy to clean up. Voldemort had already moved the round breakfast table and chairs out of the room, she knew, and had instead put in one of the outdoor chaise chairs from the back decks. Bellatrix would need a place to lie down, he'd said.

Now, coming out of the pinching black void, Bellatrix found herself in the whitewashed breakfast nook, which, in the darkness, was awash in the golden glow of the lanterns on the walls. As soon as they landed, Harriet stumbled away from Bellatrix, looking around. She caught sight of Voldemort and whimpered a little, and Bellatrix aimed her wand at Harriet.

"Do you know what happened to Jamie McLaggen?" Bellatrix asked, and Harriet's eyes watered. She shrugged.

"He Splinched badly trying to get to the train," Harriet said. "And Josephine killed herself. It's been a bad year, Bellatrix. Don't make it worse."

Bellatrix laughed a little, and she glanced to Voldemort. "My Lord. Did Jamie Splinch?"

"No," he said warmly. "No, he didn't. I killed that boy, but only after you sliced off his fingers. Only after you sliced off his cock. Only after you cast Cruciatus Curse after Cruciatus Curse upon him. Only after I fucked you in front of him."

"Wh-What?" Harriet began to cry, backing up against the white wall and shaking her head. She swiped at her eyes. "No. What happened to Jamie was a terrible accident."

"It was terrible, but it was no accident," Bellatrix smirked. "And Josephine only wrote her suicide note and slit her own throat because I Imperiused her into doing so."

"Murderer," Harriet hissed, and Bellatrix laughed. She nodded.

"Murderer," she repeated "Yes. Bleak and Bloody Bellatrix knows how to kill. And you and Jamie and Josephine ought to have known better than to spend all those years mocking me. You were poking a hornet's nest with a stick, Harriet Narcks, and you were doing it for years. No more. It ends tonight."

"D-Don't do this! My father will pay you whatever you want!" Harriet exclaimed, and Voldemort snorted a laugh. Bellatrix grinned at him, and he shook his head.

"Just do it," he told her, and she gave him a conciliatory nod.

"Yes, Master." She turned her face to Harriet and shrugged dismissively. "You are nothing, Harriet. Nothing at all.  _Avada Kedavra!_ "

There was a bright flash of green light, and then Bellatrix watched Harriet, the girl who had spent years sneering and laughing at her, fall in a silent slump against the wall of Bellatrix's palace. Harriet didn't move, and for a long moment, Bellatrix just relished the quiet stillness of her sequin-clad form. She laughed a little, smiling up at Voldemort, and she whispered,

"She's dead."

"She is," Voldemort confirmed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the opal earring that would be Bellatrix's Horcrux. It was very clearly the right earring; it was curved to fit the right ear. The left earring, a decoy, would also be hidden in case someone ever found out about Bellatrix's Horcrux. Voldemort accepted the right earring from Voldemort and set it on the windowsill, and she touched the tip of her wand to it. She'd worked hard the entire day before to memorise all the spells she would need for this process.

" _Inseruit anima mea in Inauris Argenti. Efectus Horcrux meus est. Inseruit anima mea in Inauris Argenti. Efectus Horcrux meus est._ "

She gasped, feeling a terrible sensation in her veins. It was as if a Healer were using a syringe to drag out all the blood from her veins, forcefully and painfully. Bellatrix whimpered and yelped, struggling to hold her wand on the earring. She wrenched her eyes shut and whispered again,

" _Inseruit anima mea in Inauris Argenti. Efectus Horcrux meus est. Inseruit anima mea in Inauris Argenti. Efectus Horcrux meus est._ "

She screamed then, a horrid sound erupting from between her lips. She felt like her heart was being yanked out, pulled roughly from her chest, and she cried in a wretched voice,

"Master! Help me!"

"You're all right, Bella," she heard him say distantly. "Go and consume her."

"No." Bellatrix shook her head, her mind shrieking at her not to commit the mild cannibalism required of the Horcrux magic. She shook her head and whispered, "No, no, no."

"Bellatrix! Consume her!" Voldemort barked. Bellatrix staggered away from the windowsill and over to where Harriet's body lay. She was still slumped in her gold and silver sequin gown, dressed for the New Year's Eve party she would never attend. Had they noticed Harriet was missing yet, Bellatrix wondered? Had they realised Harriet was gone? Did it matter? Would it ever matter?

Bellatrix grabbed at Harriet's left hand and stared at her red varnished fingernails. Bellatrix shuddered in horror and then nibbled at Harriet's index fingernail, biting off a piece and quickly swallowing it. She scrambled up onto the luxurious, firm outdoor chaise that Voldemort had brought into the breakfast nook. It was made of shiny white tiles in a mosaic, curved for relaxing on summer days. But tonight, on Lord Voldemort's forty-third birthday, Bellatrix was using it for committing some of the Darkest magic that existed. She clamoured up onto the chaise and set her wand down beside her with a shaking hand. She lay on her back, crossed her arms over her chest, and met Voldemort's eyes where he stood above her. He nodded down at her, looking confident.

"You can do this," he said, his voice very firm. "You can make it through. You are strong. Stars upon stars. I want you to find the blankness, Bellatrix. Even as you're dying. Every time you're dying, Bellatrix, I want you to see the vast and empty ocean. The sky where you fall forever."

"Stars upon stars upon stars upon stars." Bellatrix shut her eyes, and she nodded. " _Damnatio aeterna ego dabo nunc et in perpetua. Vitas et sequentia ego dabo nunc et in perpetua. Mortis meus nunc, ex terrae._ "

There was an empty heaviness then, a long moment in which the room around Bellatrix seemed to fall away. Then she could hear the distinct sound of a shovel cutting into dirt. She could feel speckles of earth falling onto her face, and she spluttered. She could taste the black earth, the moist soil. More and more of it came, shovelfuls.  _Crunch, swish, thud. Crunch, swish, thud._  Bellatrix tried to open her eyes, but nothing happened. She couldn't move. More and more and more of the dirt came, landing upon her faster and faster. Soon enough, she realised she was being buried, that she wouldn't escape this.

She tried to find blankness. She tried to find the black sea, the black sky. But she could still feel the press of suffocation. She was still very aware of how she couldn't breathe. She felt a terrified, cardinal flare of fear in her mind. She tried to shove it away, but the heaviness on her chest was unbearable now. She was dying. She was dying.

_Mortis meus nunc, ex terrae,_  a hundred voices shrieked in her mind, like a chorus of demons announcing her demise. She tried to imagine stars, but her ribs were crackling, and the voices screamed,  _Damnatio aeterna… Efectus Horcrux meus est!_

Suddenly Bellatrix gasped and sat up straight, coated in sweat, and she was handed a glass of water. She looked around the room, and she realised she was still in the breakfast nook. She was alive. She gulped at the water, frantic and thirsty, and she stared in fear at Lord Voldemort. She shook her head as she handed him the empty glass, and she whispered,

"I can't. I can't keep going."

"Yes, you can," he nodded, and she murmured,

"I will try. Master. I love you. I love you."

She reached for her wand, shaking so badly that she could hardly move, and she cleared her throat in discomfort. She approached Harriet's body and winced when she picked up her left hand. She was going cold. How much time had passed? Bellatrix chewed off part of Harriet's middle fingernail, but as she stared at Harriet's dull, blank chestnut eyes, she felt no remorse at all. She remembered the time they'd all been wearing formalwear, when Harriet had mocked Bellatrix's ill-fitting dress and Jamie had pretended he'd wanted to be Bellatrix's date. Bellatrix had wound up losing Slytherin points and retreating to the dungeons, and Harriet and Jamie had enjoyed the dance.

Bellatrix swallowed the fingernail.

She crawled back up onto the chaise and set her wand down again, feeling more determined now. She lay back on the chaise and shut her eyes, and she muttered in a low, stern voice,

" _Damnatio aeterna ego dabo nunc et in perpetua. Vitas et sequentia ego dabo nunc et in perpetua. Mortis meus nunc, ex aere et igne."_

Her own voice sounded vaguely hellish to her own ears, and for good reason. As the room faded away, Bellatrix felt warmth, and then heat. Heat, heat, far too much heat. It was getting too hot. Much too hot. She could hear crackling, the snap of wood breaking beneath her. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She heard a hundred wailing phantoms, distant demons crying out,

_Mortis meus nunc, ex aere et igne!_

Bellatrix screamed in silence as her flesh melted away. She was like wax, like thawing ice. It hurt so badly, and she tried desperately to see blankness. She was running away from the fire suddenly, running down an endless corridor, an empty concrete hall. There was a candle very far away, all the way at the end, and she tried to reach it. But the faster she ran, the more vigorously she burned. She was flaking away; her skin was like charcoal now. Her organs were steaming. Her eyeballs were dissolving within her skull. She collapsed in the endless corridor, staring up at the candle, burning and burning. Hot. Too hot. Pain, neverending, searing, awful pain. The smell of rot, of charred meat.

_Damnatio aeterna!_ Shrieked the hundred ancient phantoms far beyond her.  _Efectus Horcrux meus est!_

Bellatrix gasped again, sitting up, panting in the breakfast nook. Voldemort was beside her, petting between her bare shoulder blades. He was kissing her sweaty cheek. He was murmuring things to her, telling her that he loved her, telling her that she was beautiful, that she was doing a wonderful job. He was giving her water; Bellatrix was chugging it down like she'd spent a month alone in the Moroccan desert. She gave him back the empty glass and stared at him, wide-eyed.

"I can do this," she whispered maniacally, and he grinned at her, nodding.

"You are strong." He set down the glass and held her face in his hands. He kissed her firmly on the mouth and told her again, "You are strong. You must drown now, but then it's over. You must die once more, and then you will live forever with me."

She nodded, unsure of whether that was true but suddenly not caring in the least. She grabbed her wand and flew to her feet, rushing across the breakfast nook and snatching Harriet's rigid left hand. She chewed so hard at Harriet's fingertip that she got skin and nail varnish along with fingernail, but she didn't care. Bellatrix gulped it all down and hurried back over to the chaise. She was trembling, but now it was with excitement, and when she set her wand back down, she whispered,

"I love you, Master.  _Damnatio aeterna ego dabo nunc et in perpetua. Vitas et sequentia ego dabo nunc et in perpetua. Mortis meus nunc, ex aqua._ "

When the room faded away now, Bellatrix heard water gurgling in her ears. She was sinking. She was sinking far more quickly than was natural, as though there were weights on her ankles. Her instincts screamed at her to hold her breath. Her mind shouted at her that if she opened her mouth, she would drown. She needed to die, Bellatrix knew, but still she did not open her mouth. All around her there was aquamarine, a lovely shade of blue that would have been peaceful under different circumstances. But the deeper she sank, the deeper the blue became. Cerulean. The blue beyond the shallows - longing.

Then it became the deep navy of comfort, though Bellatrix felt anything but comfortable. Her lungs began to burn. She flailed. Her arms and legs whirled and spun in the water, desperate for purchase, for some sort of flotsam to take hold of. Where was the shipwreck from whence she'd come? Where was some driftwood? Where was her Master?

Gasp. She gasped. She couldn't help it, despite what her instincts were telling her to do. Eventually she gasped.

_Mortis meus nunc,_  sang a lone, mournful voice from somewhere far away.  _Mortis meus nunc ex aqua._

Bellatrix breathed in. The water rushed down her throat, filling her lungs. She gasped again, desperate for air. Her body shouted in protest, in pain. Her throat tightened up in protest. This saltwater was poison! It wasn't air; it was a threat. It was to be thoroughly rejected. Bellatrix shrieked, but that only made her breathe in more water. She was pulled further downward, and everything burned. It burned worse than fire. Her veins were burning. Her mind was burning.

_Mortis meus nun ex aqua,_ sang the sorrowful voice.  _Damnatio aeterna. Efectus Horcrux meus est._

Flailing, pushing, burning like lava. Suddenly Bellatrix remembered what her master had told her, and she opened her mouth and spoke aloud into the water,

"Stars upon stars upon stars upon stars."

She shut her eyes and felt the water around her. Black. She felt inky black. All was still. She felt the burning dissolve away, like salt into the water. She was surrounded by stars. She was falling into the velvet sky. She was falling, falling, falling forever.

She opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling of the breakfast nook. She was breathing slowly now. Nothing hurt. She was peaceful. She felt… she felt…  _good._

"Master." She turned her face to him, and he looked almost afraid as he held out his palm to her with the right opal earring lying flat there. Bellatrix sat up slowly on the chaise, accepting her wand from Voldemort. She looked for Harriet, but Harriet was gone. Voldemort must have Vanished her corpse. The sun was coming up outside, Bellatrix could see; there was pink and purple and golden light. It had to be at least six or seven in the morning. She had been drowning -  _dying_  - for many hours now. Her hand did not shake one bit as she aimed her wand at the earring and murmured,

" _Efectus Horcrux meus est._ "

There was a vibrant glow of silver light, and Bellatrix felt a crackling inside of her, and then the earring vibrated and let out a shrieking sound that pierced the air. Then all was still and quiet, and Voldemort closed his hand around the earring.

"The decoy will be hidden here, in your boudoir. But have you any idea of where you would like to keep the real one?" he asked Bellatrix, and she nodded as she reminded him,

"There's this little hotel in Casablanca, you know. A place called the Hotel Farah. Under a floor tile in the room where we stayed. And then I'll Epoximise the tile to the floor and Jinx it so Muggles won't ever want to replace the flooring."

Voldemort smirked and nodded. He shrugged.

"I hear Morocco is lovely in the winter. It'll only be a two-day trip, anyway, with the way you've learnt to Apparate so expertly."

He was quiet then where he crouched beside the chaise, and he said very seriously,

"I have never seen strength like yours. Not ever. Certainly not in myself."

"You flatter me, Master," Bellatrix muttered, but Voldemort snapped back,

"You astonish me."

She raised her eyes to him then, and she blinked a few times as she asked him,

"Why did you make me do this?"

"Because I need you forever," Voldemort said simply, "and these Horcruxes are the very closest thing I have to an assurance of forever."

Bellatrix nodded. She gulped, feeling queasy. "I think I'll need to rest for a few days before I go to Morocco, My Lord."

He scoffed. "At least a week. Mr Mulciber will have to hold those thestrals for us for a while, but no matter; we've got a very angry Ministry to evade, anyway. Don't you worry; I've every intention of spoiling you rotten over the next week or so. You've certainly earned it."

He rose, taking her Horcrux with him, and then he said over his shoulder to him,

"Well done, Bellatrix. And… erm… thank you."

**Author's Note: Well. That was an intense process, no? Now, after all these angsty, violent, intense chapters, who's ready for a chapter of Voldemort Taking Loving Care of Bellatrix to Reward Her fluff? Haha. Thank you as always for reading and especially for reviewing.**


	56. Permission

"I come bearing breakfast." Voldemort came walking into Bellatrix's bathroom to find her soaking in her copper tub. She looked weary, with bags under her eyes, but she looked strong. Her hair was wet; she'd clearly washed it. She was clean and strong.

Watching her die over and over had been agony for Voldemort. He'd taken no pleasure at all in seeing the way she'd shrieked and stretched, the way her body had flushed scarlet and then drained of all colour. But toward the end, for the final two hours or so, she'd been completely peaceful, lying and breathing in silence, and he'd known that she'd found blankness. Stars upon stars. She'd found meditative peace even as she'd been drowning, even in death. She was stronger than anyone he'd ever known. He loved her more powerfully now than he'd imagined possible.

She smiled a little at him from the tub, seeming very amused by the way he'd come walking in with a tray full of food. She was even more amused by the way he set the tray down beside her tub and then slowly lowered himself to sit. He was forty-three now, and his bones and muscles weren't letting him forget it. But she was still eighteen and very beautiful, especially in the hot water of her bath made milky by soap.

"Breakfast in... bath?" she asked, and he quirked up half his mouth.

"I didn't want to make you dress and come all the way downstairs. It's a big house," he said. He poked his fork around the plate, breaking the yolk of her over easy eggs until it covered the diced potato, and he asked, "Would you like a bite?"

Her pale cheeks flushed a little, and she nodded. "Yes, please."

He stabbed some egg and potato onto the fork and carefully brought it to her mouth. She let her lips slide over the tines of the fork, moaning softly at the taste of the food.

"Mmph. Didn't realise how hungry I was," she said, and then she tipped herself back a little, submerging herself a bit in the tub. She sighed and whispered, "I feel powerful this morning, Master."

"You are powerful," he murmured, and he stabbed the fork into some more egg and potato. "You are ferocious."

She sat up a bit to take another bite. She ate a few more bites in silence, then gratefully accepted the little glass of chilled water that Voldemort handed her. He fed her a grilled tomato, which made her moan happily, and soon enough he felt himself starting to go rather hard inside the soft flannel pyjamas he'd put on. He'd dressed for comfort, for today was a day for lounging. But he gulped now, feeling his cock ache a little, and he mumbled,

"You look very pretty just now, Bella."

"Do I?" She laughed a little and sipped more water, and when he took the glass back, he said seriously,

"When you were peaceful at last, I thought you were the most beautiful witch who'd ever lived. I stared and stared. I couldn't take my eyes off of you. I am more in love with you than you could ever know. I am so…  _so_ very proud of you. Astonished by you."

She'd frozen then, seeming quite surprised by the force of his words. He huffed a breath and encouraged her to eat the last bite of grilled tomato. She did, blinking quickly, and then took another sip of water. Voldemort Banished the tray of food with a flick of his wand, sending it down to the kitchens for Pokey to deal with. Bellatrix reached to yank at the tub's rubber stopper and mumbled,

"It's going cold."

"I can heat it up, if you'd like to stay," Voldemort offered, but she smiled weakly at him, and he knew what she was thinking. She could heat up her own bath water if she wanted. She wasn't the sixteen-year-old girl barred from performing magic in Malfoy Manor anymore. That little girl was gone. The innocent creature he'd fondled through ballet costumes because she'd been forbidden was gone. She'd been killed just as surely as Jamie and Josephine and Harriet had been killed.

Just the same, Voldemort reached for a fluffy white towel and handed it to Bellatrix. She gratefully accepted it and used it to dab at her damp curls and then her skinny, short body. She was so damned attractive, Voldemort thought. He swallowed hard, his eyes scanning her up and down. She had small, soft breasts. She had a narrow waist and a flat belly. She had thin arms and legs. He liked to touch every scrap of her. He wanted to touch her now.

"Master?"

His eyes snapped up to her, and he realised how intensely he was breathing. She gave him a very knowing smile, and she reached for his arm to support her as she stepped out of the deep tub. She whispered to him,

"You're hard in those pyjama trousers. I can see."

"Can you?" His voice felt weak in his throat then. She pulled right up to him, right up in front of him, and she started to massage him through the flannel. She leaned her head against his chest, and she asked,

"Do you remember when you taught me how to touch you? Through your trousers, I learnt to touch you."

"Bellatrix." His breath was shaking a little now, for her hand had become more than slightly expert with him over the past year and a half. She knew just how to stroke him. She knew just how he liked his tip stimulated, just where to linger. She lingered in the right places now. She stroked him properly. It felt so very good, too, and as he rubbed at her bare back, he shut his eyes and tipped his head back a little and listened to her speak.

"Up in my dance studio," she murmured, her breath warm through the flannel on his chest, "You guided my hand and you showed me. You taught me, Master. You taught me everything. You've always taught me everything."

"Bella." He kissed her wet curls, realising distantly that they smelled of lavender. Soothing, calming, deep. He breathed her in and felt his balls tighten up against his body, felt her fingers cinch and stroke and caress through the fabric.

"You came for me. Up in the dance studio, with my hand on your trousers, you came for me," she whimpered, her voice low, sounding aroused, almost desperate. Her breath was moving hot and fast against him now, and her left arm curled tightly round his waist. His palm flattened against her back as her right hand tightened, squeezing. He was going to come. He couldn't help it. She kissed him through his shirt, and she whispered, "Come for me now, Master."

"Bellatrix." His voice was breaking in the air, a plea, crackling and tired. His knees buckled a little then, and he felt her left fingers rub his back. She kissed his chest again. His come leaked out in spurts, making a huge sticky mess in his pyjama trousers. She held her hand over his cock, rubbing her thumb over his tip as he came, humming gently against him, reassuringly, comfortingly.

Wasn't he meant to be the one taking care of her today? He was dizzy. The bathroom was too warm, he thought. She was leaving him, he realised; she was walking over to where her wand was lying on the ground beside the tub. She was peeling back the waistband of his trousers and Siphoning and Scouring. He was still dizzy.

He grabbed at her face suddenly, holding her jaw with one hand and tipping her up, forcing her to look at him. She did, seeming like she was made of iron on stone. She was so beautiful he couldn't stand it for a moment, so he just kissed her. He kissed her so hard that their teeth clicked together, but she didn't seem to mind. She mewled a little at the force behind his kiss, and she let him back her up toward the white tiled wall. She was still completely naked, but she didn't seem to mind that, either. He put his fingers between her legs and felt her sopping wet and swollen there, and he dragged his fingertips around her velvety entrance. He moved purposefully, not teasing her one bit. Today was not a day for teasing her. She was not a witch to be teased today. Today was a day for giving her release, for giving her satisfaction.

So he made a V with his fingers and pumped them slowly, carefully from her clit toward the back and forward again. She seemed to quite like this, the way he was stimulating her nub and her folds all at once. She moaned into his mouth, and when he broke away, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, still holding her wand, and she stared up at him with pearlescent, full lips and wide, dark eyes.

"I wasn't alive until I knew you," she whispered. "You have given me everything, Master."

"No." He shook his head, deepening the insistent strokes of his fingers. "I have only given you permission."

Somehow, that seemed to push her over an invisible edge. She moaned at that, and he kissed her again, more gently this time. He brushed his lips against hers, knowing now that if one of them took a stray Killing Curse, there would not be some awful rip of separation, the horrid torn seam that death would deal them. He let his breath mingle with hers as she came, as her walls clamped tightly between his fingers, and he touched his forehead to hers. He heard her huff, listened to her moan, felt her arms tighten around him a little, and after a very long moment, her body relaxed.

"I am so...  _tired_ ," she whispered. She looked up at him, and he knew she'd pushed herself too far. She'd gone straight from making her Horcrux into the bath. He ought not to have encouraged her into anything sexual so soon after anything as draining as making a Horcrux, anyway; he certainly hadn't had the energy for anything like that after making any of his own. He twined his fingers through Bellatrix's and led her out to her dressing space, waiting patiently whilst she pulled on knickers and a nightgown. He watched, unable to keep from smiling a bit, as she tightly plaited her damp curls into pigtail braids that she bound with velvet ribbons. Then he walked with her into their bedroom, and, feeling more than a little weary himself after staying awake all night monitoring the process, he suggested,

"Why don't we just spend the entire day and night sleeping?"

"That sounds wonderful, My Lord," Bellatrix smiled. He peeled back the green toile blankets and climbed in, lying on his side facing her. She settled in and pulled the blankets up, and he told her,

"I might as well just get on my back now."

"We do  _always_  wake with you like that, with me curled up beside you," Bellatrix grinned. "Why is that, I wonder?"

"I probably drag you over halfway through the night," Voldemort joked. "I probably lie on my back and wrench you onto me."

She laughed softly. "No. I probably shove you onto your back and plop myself on top."

"Well. We'll never know," he admitted. "Does it matter? I certainly don't mind waking that way. Nor falling asleep that way."

Bellatrix smirked at him, and he chuckled as he rolled from his side onto his back. She cuddled up alongside him, tossing her left leg across his hips and her left arm across his chest. She sighed happily onto him, and as he shut his eyes, he asked softly,

"Better?"

He felt her nod, and she kissed him through his shirt. "Perfect."

**Author's Note: Whiplash! Gotta have some delicious citrusy fluff between these two after such an intense Horcrux-making chapter, right? But the show must go on. Mwah hahaha. Back to Morocco!**


	57. Insatiable

_Master, attached please find a letter received today at Malfoy Manor from Natheal at the White Wyvern. I hope all is well. So far, all is quiet here. - Abraxas_

Voldemort pushed Abraxas' letter away and unfurled the other scroll curiously. He sat at his office in Adderbury House; he and Bellatrix were meant to leave in a few hours for Morocco, but an owl had arrived from Malfoy Manor and had swept him in here. Now he scowled at the letter, at his spy Natheal's spindly writing, and he read,

_L.V.,_

_Yesterday in the tavern, I observed a very agitated couple sitting at a table. I recognised them as the Rosiers. They're Purebloods, so I'm sure you know they're the parents of three Hogwarts students - Lucille, Timothy, and Egraine. The Rosiers ordered a bottle of Blishen's for their table and three glasses, so I knew they were expecting someone. That someone turned out to be Albus Dumbledore._

_The place was pretty slow, so I made myself busy Scouring dishes and glasses and listened carefully. The Rosiers were making a big fuss to Dumbledore. Was Hogwarts safe? Why was it that students kept dying this school term, they wanted to know? First Jamie McLaggen, then Josephine Glass, and now the news that the Muggle-born Harriet Narcks had disappeared from outside her parents' house on New Year's Eve._

_Dumbledore reminded them calmly that none of the students' unfortunate deaths had happened at Hogwarts. He said there were bad years sometimes, years where bad things happened. He told them that Lucille, Timothy, and Egraine were safer at Hogwarts than anywhere else._

_And then he told them that Bellatrix Black was, in his opinion, connected in some loose way to the deaths of all three of those students. He reminded them that Bellatrix Black was Undesirable Number One and said she'd been responsible for four Aurors disappearing whilst trying to apprehend her. The Rosiers got very angry then. They told Dumbledore that Bellatrix Black was their niece and not to speak ill of her. They threatened not to put their children back in school. Dumbledore said again that the school was safe, that Bellatrix Black was not, and he put coins on the table for the whisky. Then he left._

_I thought you'd want to know._

_Natheal_

Voldemort huffed out a breath as he set the letter aside. He'd know that Bellatrix was now Undesirable Number One; Abraxas had sent him copies of the Wanted posters that were hanging in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. She was wanted for evading arrest, for violating the probationary terms after committing an Unforgivable. And, apparently, Dumbledore knew about the Aurors on Christmas, though there would be no way to prove the murders definitively.

Voldemort pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and dipped a quill into ink, and he began to write.

_Abraxas,_

_Send five hundred Galleons to the Rosiers with a note thanking them for their ongoing familial loyalty to Bellatrix. Be sure to reassure them that Lord Voldemort will always look out for the safety of Lucille, Timothy, and Egraine. Send Natheal his due. Send him double. He's a good spy. All is well here. Keep in touch._

_L.V._

"Master?"

He looked up to see Bellatrix walking slowly into his office. He froze; she looked remarkably sexy. He blinked a few times in disbelief at her appearance. She was dressed for the warm weather they were headed to; she'd put on a scandalously short black chiffon dress with an asymmetrical, one-sleeved design. She had her curls smoothed just so, and they tumbled around her shoulders. She'd smudged black liner around her eyes, and she wore shiny red lipstick. She had on high-heeled sandals with straps that criss-crossed up her legs like her ballet shoes did. And around her neck was her brass key. Voldemort gulped and said lightly,

"Someone's dressed to impress a bunch of Moroccan Muggles. They may actually arrest you for indecency, you know, dressed like that. I'm not actually joking."

"Oh." Bellatrix glanced down at herself. "Should I change?"

"Probably," Voldemort said seriously. He looked up from where he was rolling his letter up, and he said gravely, "Believe me; you're unfathomably beautiful, but those people have an odd faith that dictates modesty in women. I wouldn't want you thrown into a Muggle prison; the wizarding one's bad enough."

"I'll change." Bellatrix nodded. She sighed then, shifting where she stood, and she looked physically uncomfortable. She whimpered softly, her cheeks going pink, and Voldemort dragged his teeth over his bottom lip.

"You've still got that itch you can't scratch, hm?"

She nodded, seeming profoundly embarrassed. He smirked a bit to himself. For the last week, she'd been insatiable. Voldemort had had cravings after making his Horcruxes, too - nothing sexual, but he'd gone on manic buying sprees, spending money he didn't have. He'd eaten so much food for a few weeks at a time that he'd gained a paunch. He knew what it meant, in the wake of making a Horcrux, to spend a few weeks feeling inescapable  _need_. It seemed to be a part of the process. But for Bellatrix, the need was entirely corporeal. She'd been so ravenous that Voldemort simply hadn't been able to keep up with her.

She understood that wizards had refractory periods; she'd read her anatomy book. So in the mornings, once she'd worn him out, she would touch herself and then let him use his wand to induce a few more climaxes on her, and then she'd fall asleep for another hour or so. But by lunchtime, she always wanted more. Voldemort had found that three times a day or so was his personal limit, but he'd been trying to use his mouth or fingers or wand whenever he could to give Bellatrix what she wanted. No, what she  _needed_. He understood that she wasn't being silly or wanton; she'd performed incredibly deep and Dark magic, and her body was in dire straits because of it.

"Master." She approached his desk, looking humiliated and desperate. He smiled a bit and stood, very grateful for her short dress. He beckoned to her and edged her up onto his desk, pushing the letters to and from Abraxas aside for the moment.

"Knickers off," he murmured, and as she happily squirmed out of them, he reached into his robes and unfastened the buttons of his trousers. He wasn't hard, but she could make him hard. He'd had more sex in the last week than he'd probably had in the entire forty-three years prior, but he wasn't sick of it yet. He lowered his face and whispered into Bellatrix's ear,

"Tell me something." He touched at her curls with one and and reached between her legs with the other, feeling his cock twitch just a little at the sensation of feeling her beneath his fingers. She gasped, and he kissed her cheek before he said again, "Tell me something, Bella. Do you mind that I'm older than you?"

She laughed a little. "No, Master. I like it. I could never be with a boy my age. Not ever."

"No?" He felt blood flushing to his cock now. "Why not? Why do you like being with a man as old I am?"

"Because," she panted, squirming as he pulled out his cock and lined it up between her legs, "I like the threads of silver in your beard and hair, Master. I like the way you've lived a whole life before me. I like…  _oh!_ Oh, oh, oh… I like the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh. I like how low your voice is."

He chuckled beside her and pushed in, feeling profoundly erect now, and as he buried himself inside of her, he touched his hand to her abdomen and incanted wandlessly,

" _Potens Gaudens._ "

She tipped her head back and started to moan then as the climax took her over. Voldemort groaned, thrusting through the way she clamped around him, the way her body trembled. He liked how her thighs squeezed at him, how her arms wrapped tightly around him. She cried out wordlessly, but before she could come down from her high, he pressed his palm to her and grunted again,

" _Potens Gaudens._ "

"Master!" She gasped frantically then, grasping him tightly as she came harder than ever. Voldemort buried himself inside of her, unable to resist tumbling over his own edge as he felt the effects of her orgasm around him. He moaned softly and let his come pump into her, let it fill her up, knowing that he'd been overcautious in reinforcing her contraceptive spells three times just this week. For a long moment, they both just recovered, tangled up atop his desk, and then, finally, Voldemort pulled back and slid out of her, and he asked,

"Better?"

"Th-Thank you, Master." She seemed very shaky as she got down from his desk. She had come running down her thigh, he could see, but neither of them seemed inclined to fix that. He bent to pick up her knickers, and when he handed them to her, he kissed her cheekbone and reassured her,

"It'll wear off. And when it does, I'll be a bit gloomy, because there's not a husband in the world who doesn't wish for a hot-blooded wife. Now, go put something drab and modest on so we can go hide your Horcrux. I've got to send this letter off to Abraxas."

* * *

"So. This is the hiding-place." Bellatrix stepped into the whitewashed hotel room and looked around. She smiled a bit, walking over to the window and flinging open the salt-stained wooden shutters. She listened to the calls from the minarets in the distance. She studied the laundry the Muggles hand hung out to dry in criss-crossed lined from windows in the next street over. A small motorcycle went whizzing by in the street below. In the distance, the Mediterranean glittered like a jewel. She turned to Voldemort and nodded. "It's perfect."

"I think we should move the dresser," he suggested, "and use a tile under there. What you'll want to do is remove the tile, dig out a small hole in the mortar for the earring, Epoximise the tile back atop it, and then cast a small Muggle-Repelling Charm on the tile itself. Then we'll enchant the tiles throughout the hotel not to break, so the Muggles are less likely to ever feel the need to replace them, and I will cast the jinx on the tiles in this room making it impossible for them to actually be replaced."

"I've never actually heard of that sort of jinx," Bellatrix scowled, "and I seem to remember being made to memorise every jinx in existence."

He smirked at her and crossed his arms over his white linen shirt. "Well. If this sort of jinx were an easy one to undo, you'd have had the same Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher for two years in a row, but I reckon you didn't."

Bellatrix felt a strange twist in her stomach. "What do you… what do you know about that, Master?"

"About six years ago," he said, pacing in the small room, "during Dumbledore's first year at Headmaster, I approached him. I was freshly back from the Continent. I wanted a teaching position at Hogwarts. Defence Against the Dark Arts. Dumbledore saw straight through me; he'd always seen straight through me. I wanted the position to recruit, obviously, and to access the school. But he wouldn't hire me. So I used a complex jinx of my own invention, and now no one can stay in the Defence Against the Dark Arts position for more than one year, nor escape a dire fate."

He looked very proud of himself. Bellatrix scoffed and then laughed a little, and she admitted,

"I always wondered what was wrong with those teachers. Oh, Master. That is… remarkable. And very, very petty."

He grinned and shrugged. "Well. In any case, if Dumbledore still can't get that jinx off a teaching position, I reckon your earring will be safe under a tile."

Bellatrix reached into the little velvet drawstring bag around her waist and pulled out the Horcrux. She gulped and studied it, the opal and the diamonds and the silver. She reached up to her ears, to the holes that were closing up. No use for them now. She looked up to Voldemort and asked,

"Will I miss it? The Horcrux? My chest hurts a little; I feel like I'm going to miss it."

"No." He shook his head and insisted, "there will be a slight pang of separation when you first leave it behind, but then you'll feel relief, knowing that it's safely ensconced here. You'll want to move it in ten years or so, just in case. And you've got a decoy. I wish you had more of them."

"I don't want to make more of them," Bellatrix said very firmly. She closed her hand around the earring. "One is enough."

He nodded. He went over to the dresser and shoved it to the side a bit, revealing some dusty terracotta tiles beneath. He Scoured them clean with his wand and told Bellatrix,

"Take your pick."

She knelt down, pulling out her wand, and she drew a square around one of the tile's mortar. " _Diffindo._ "

Voldemort crouched down and helped her peel off the tile from the ground. She watched him use his wand to dig a small divot into the concrete beneath, and then Bellatrix kissed the earring Horcrux and whispered,

"Stay safe."

She placed it into the divot and felt an odd pang in her chest, an instinct screaming at her to pick it back up. But she quickly turned the tile over in her hand and murmured,

" _Epoximise._ "

Then she placed the tile down and repeated the spell, and when she tried to peel it off again, it was entirely sealed. She heard Voldemort mutter a few protective enchantments and Muggle-repelling spells aimed directly at the tile that wouldn't affect the room as a whole. Then they stood, and Bellatrix swished her wand about, saying firmly,

" _Tegulas Infragilis!_ "

The tiles would be solid now, she knew; they wouldn't break. Voldemort pointed his wand at the tile where the earring was hidden, and he said softly,

" _Fiat voluntas mea… Haec tegula manet in aeternum. Fiat voluntas mea._ "

There was a glow of orange light, then a flash of bright gold and a crackling sound, and Bellatrix blinked quickly through the light. Voldemort smirked as he tucked his wand away, and he assured her,

"That tile is not going anywhere. Help me put this dresser back, will you?"

They pushed the dresser back into place, and then Bellatrix heard her stomach growl rather insistently. She also felt a throbbing between her legs, and she suddenly felt like she had all sorts of needs to be met. She huffed, putting her hands on her hips.

"All right," Voldemort said in a conciliatory voice. He glanced outside at the glow of the late afternoon, and he said, "Which first? Food or sex? Good restaurants won't open for dinner for another hour or so."

Bellatrix laughed and shrugged. "Sex first, then."

He nodded and flicked his eyes toward the bed, and he began to unbutton his shirt. He was a very accommodating master, Bellatrix thought as she kicked off her shoes, and she was grateful for it.

**Author's Note: Whew! Insatiable Bellatrix! But at least Voldemort is understanding. ;) Thank goodness he's got spies, but it sounds like Dumbledore's onto them. Who thinks Dumbledore or the Ministry or both will make a more aggressive move to try and get Bellatrix now that she's Undesirable Number One? And what does poor Druella think of her daughter being such a notorious outlaw? Let's have one more good mother-daughter meeting before Narcissa goes back to Hogwarts, shall we? Ha.**


	58. Undesirable

"My Lord," Bellatrix said across the breakfast table, "I really don't want to go."

"It is of critical importance that your family not turn against us," Voldemort said rather sharply. Bellatrix opened her mouth to speak, but he set down his fork and knife and said, "Your father and I have had our own quarrels, our own disagreements. Not just about you, Bellatrix; we've had issues about finances and goblins and things. Then there's the matter of Andromeda; they've had to disown a daughter for being a Blood Traitor. Now you're Undesirable Number One, and their youngest and closest daughter is going back to school for the next five months. I think it is essential that we have a pleasant little meeting with them today. Please be on your best behaviour."

He gave her a stern look and cut into his back bacon. Bellatrix sighed and chewed her scone. She sipped her peppermint tea and stared out the window onto the frigid-looking brown lawn, contemplating that this room was where she'd killed Harriet, where she'd made her Horcrux. She wouldn't tell her parents about any of that.

An hour later, she was up in her dressing space, trying to find something to wear that would make her mother happy. She finally decided upon a simple, boat-necked black crocheted dress with long sleeves. It was a heavy piece, though not overly formal. Bellatrix styled her hair in milkmaid braids that crisscrossed her head, giving her an innocent sort of look. She dabbed a little blusher onto her cheeks and applied just a little peach lipstick and some mascara. She studied her reflection, and from beside her, she heard Voldemort say,

"Hm. Strange. You don't look like a wanted criminal."

She smirked at him. "Do I look like a very obedient daughter?"

He tipped his head and shrugged. "Something like that. Shall we go?"

She laughed and stood from her boudoir. Suddenly she froze, staring at him and blinking a few times. He curled up half his mouth, as if he were studying her reaction. She tried not to sound disappointed as she noted,

"You shaved off your beard."

"It was… irritating you," he pointed out. She huffed. He'd been using his mouth on her quite a lot lately, owing to her somewhat insatiable appetite for physicality. Just this morning, she'd ridden his insensitive morning erection for twenty minutes, but it hadn't been enough for her. After he'd Scoured her clean, he'd started to caress her between her legs with his lips, but he'd had to stop because the chafing from his beard had made her bleed a little. After twelve days of very frequent relations, she was already sensitised, and the coarseness of his facial hair scratching at her delicate skin was too much. She felt terrible now that he'd felt compelled to shave because of  _that._  She wrung her hands before her, and he laughed a little as he said,

"It's a small price to pay, I assure you. I'll grow it back out once this hunger of yours wears off."

"And what if it doesn't wear off?" she demanded frantically. Even now, she could have ridden him again. He shook his head.

"It will. After making one of mine, I ate and ate for weeks. I got  _fat_. Properly fat; my trousers didn't fit. I lost the weight, because the hunger wore off. Another time, I spent all sorts of money that I didn't have. Another time, I was drunk every day for three weeks. But it always wore off. It'll be fine, Bella. Honestly… I'd much rather be able to taste you."

She shivered at that, her eyes fluttering a little. She whimpered a bit, and she heard Voldemort's voice incant,

" _Potens Gaudens._ "

"Master." She gasped, leaning heavily on her boudoir as she was overcome by a sudden, much appreciated climax. She clamped and clenched between her legs, and her ears rang and went hot. Her breath quickened for a few moments, and then satisfaction went flush through her veins. She nodded her thanks and smiled at him, and he held out a hand to her, looking very handsome indeed, clean-shaven with his greying hair.

"Let's go," he said, and she happily took his hand.

* * *

"Lucius. How's your mother?" Bellatrix asked, and Lucius hesitated a little where he stood in the formal lounge. Behind him, Bellatrix could see the marble globe Voldemort had given Abraxas for Christmas. Lucius hesitated for so long that Bellatrix could tell she'd erred in asking about Aeta. She laughed awkwardly and sipped her gin and cucumber cocktail. "Sorry. I didn't mean to -"

"No, it's just…" Lucius shifted where he stood, sipping his own plain Gillywater. "Her, erm, girlfriend. Evelina. She left. It's too bad. I quite liked Evelina."

"Oh. Sorry to hear that," Bellatrix said very sincerely. "Your mum seemed to quite like Evelina, too."

"Yeah. It's… anyway." Lucius' cheeks went quite red, and Bellatrix just wished her family would arrive. She swallowed hard and prepared to say something, but Lucius said, "I don't know if you heard. Your father and mine drew up betrothal documents between Narcissa and myself. We're to be married as soon as we leave Hogwarts."

"Oh!" Bellatrix swigged from her cocktail, tasting the bite of gin and nodding vigorously. "My goodness. That's… well, I can't say as I'm surprised, but I'm pleased for you both. You'll make each other happy, I think."

"I mean to make her the happiest witch in all the world, Bellatrix." Lucius seemed very eager then, and Bellatrix found herself unexpectedly emotional. She sipped her drink again as Lucius said, "Narcissa is like a flower inside a blown glass shell. She's beautiful and must be protected, but she's also very intelligent and capable. I adore her, and I mean to take very good care of her."

"Oh." Bellatrix blinked quickly at the boy before her and nodded. "My goodness, Lucius. I hope she hears you speak like that."

"She does," Lucius said, and Bellatrix sipped again. Suddenly she knew why her sister, who wasn't quite fourteen, was so enamoured with this skinny blond young wizard. Bellatrix would have never wanted a boy like this, but he was perfect for Cissy.

"Bellatrix! Lucius!"

She whirled around at the sound of Narcissa's voice, and she grinned. She set her drink down on a side table beside a sofa and approached Narcissa, who had come in a grey and black tailored coat dress. Narcissa kissed Bellatrix's cheeks and then stepped up to Lucius, looking nervous. Bellatrix picked her drink back up and smirked, demurely turning her face away as Lucius gave Narcissa an awkwardly skeletal sort of embrace.

"Where're Mum and Dad?" Bellatrix asked, and Narcissa said rather stiffly,

"They're in the Dark Lord's office with Mr Malfoy."

"Ah." Bellatrix nodded. "Hm. Yes. I suppose the Dark Lord wants to ensure everyone's on the same page with what's been happening."

"What  _has_ been happening, Bella?" Narcissa asked carefully. "I heard from our cousin Egraine that you had something to do with four Aurors disappearing on Christmas."

"I'm not meant to discuss that," Bellatrix said very firmly, and Lucius insisted,

"My father told me not to ask anything about that."

Narcissa scowled and demanded, "Bellatrix, have you been putting yourself in danger?"

"Oh, you poor creature.  _That's_ your concern?" Bellatrix scoffed. She petted Narcissa's wavy blonde hair and shook her head. "I'm fine."

"Where are you living?" Narcissa asked bluntly, and Bellatrix shrugged.

"We have a home. But I can't say any more than that."

"All right." Narcissa chewed her lip and admitted, "I'm just glad you're not in Azkaban."

"Oh. So am I," Bellatrix laughed, sipping more of her drink. Lucius said rather frankly,

"My mother told me that if the Ministry got ahold my father's wand and inspected it, they'd put him into Azkaban for life, too. She seemed quite sure of that. So I think we all have a responsibility to protect those we care about. And aside from that, we all know that the Dark Lord is the future. Serving him means loyalty to him, loyalty to you, Bellatrix. You know you can always find refuge here at Malfoy Manor."

Bellatrix smiled warmly at Lucius and told him seriously, "You'll make a fine Death Eater in a few years, Lucius."

"Oh, it's good to actually see you alive and well, Bellatrix," said a voice from behind her, and Bellatrix turned around to see Druella Black looking pale and tired. She looked like she'd lost quite a lot of weight, too, and Bellatrix thought perhaps Druella hadn't been eating. She plastered on a happy smile and rushed toward her mother.

"Mum." She embraced Druella tightly, but Druella was stiff and unmoving beneath Bellatrix's arms. When Bellatrix pulled back, Druella glared down at her daughter, and she huffed,

"Undesirable Number One. The Ministry's been to our house three times, Bellatrix. They've searched your childhood bedroom. There were Aurors searching through  _my_  bedroom."

"Druella…" Cygnus' voice carried warning, and Druella shut her eyes, shaking her head firmly. Tears watered up in her shut eyes, and she whispered in a cracked voice,

"They confiscated things, Bellatrix. They took some of our belongings. Said they were  _evidence._ "

"I'll replace them!" Bellatrix said desperately, but Druella opened her eyes and snapped,

"You'll replace your Great Aunt Cassiopeia's pearl and diamond necklace that she inherited from her mother? The one she gave me on my wedding day that I intended on passing down to Narcissa? You'll replace that, will you?"

Bellatrix sucked in air hard and demanded, "Why would the Ministry take that? That's not evidence of anything! That's thievery! We'll get it back! Won't we, Master?"

She looked to Voldemort, her gaze feeling fiery, and his mouth fell open. He threw his hands up helplessly and confessed,

"I can't promise anything other than to try. I've got spies in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I can try and arrange a break-in to the Auror Department's evidence storage, especially given the fact that they took heirloom pieces seemingly for vengeance. But… no promises."

"We'll try to get it back," Bellatrix insisted, seizing her mother's hands tightly. Druella swallowed hard and said primly,

"Daddy's signed papers with Abraxas, you know. Cissy's to marry dear Lucius."

"Yes. I heard." Bellatrix curled her lips up and looked over her shoulder to where Narcissa and Lucius stood very near one another. She smiled at her mother and said, "They'll make one another so happy."

"But neither you nor Andromeda will be at the wedding," Druella snarled roughly. "I've got one beautiful daughter who wants to be a good wife and mother. And then I've got a Blood Traitor daughter who wants to marry a Mudblood, and I've got a daughter who's Undesirable Number One! Oh, Cygnus, help me; I'm going to faint."

"She's always on the verge of fainting!" Bellatrix exclaimed, staggering backward. "This woman is constantly seconds away from fainting."

"Bellatrix." Voldemort tipped his head as Cygnus and Narcissa rushed up to Druella. Lucius went to stand by Abraxas, both of them seeming very uncomfortable. Druella began to heave with sobs, Cygnus holding one of her arms and Narcissa the other. Druella wrenched her arm from Narcissa and pointed a shaking finger at Bellatrix.

"You will never be a real daughter!" she exclaimed, and Bellatrix scowled. "You will never understand what it means to be a real bride, much less a mother! You will  _never_  understand what this feels like, what it feels like to lose your own children!"

"Druella, you need to stop now; you've no idea what you're talking about," Voldemort said in a snap. He looked up at Cygnus, his face going red, and he said harshly, "If she's going to be in hysterics every time she sees Bella, she won't see Bella."

"Mum." Bellatrix's eyes welled, very much against her will. She shook her head, suddenly remembering the pain, the cramping that had come with her miscarriage. She remembered the way she'd removed her Witch's Stopper Charm after nearly two weeks of bleeding, the way she'd watched blood gush for hours into the toilet, the scarlet stain signaling the loss of the Dark Lord's baby. Bellatrix shook her head roughly and pleaded again, "Mum, just stop."

"Mummy, I think you should try to sit down and just have some tea with Bella," Narcissa was saying, rubbing at Druella's shoulder and speaking in a soothing sort of voice. But Druella kept crying and wailed,

"I've got a Blood Traitor for a daughter! I've got Undesirable Number One for a daughter! What on Earth am I meant to do? Where have I gone wrong?"

"Get her out of here, Cygnus," Voldemort said softly. He looked very angry, Bellatrix noticed. She turned away, walking over to the window and staring out at the Malfoy gardens. She gazed at a rose bush and felt searing, blistering anger inside of her. Garnet with flecks of cherry and dark merlot. A persistent anger. There was something else, too - deep plum signaling the sensation of betrayal. Bellatrix let out a shaking breath and gnawed on her fingernail for a moment, shutting her eyes. She listened as Druella protested being taken to another room by her husband, but finally Druella and Cygnus left with Abraxas, and Bellatrix heard Voldemort tell Lucius and Narcissa to go off on their own for awhile.

She found blankness after a moment. She was in a long, empty corridor, a place of unadorned concrete. It went on for a very long time, and she walked and walked until she reached the candle at the end. There was no plum betrayal, no cherry-flecked garnet anger.

"Bellatrix?"

She opened her eyes, seeing Voldemort's reflection in the window before her. She did not turn around. His hands squeezed a bit at her shoulders, and he kissed the top of her head, where she'd crisscrossed milkmaid braids.

"I don't think you should see your mother for the time being," he told her, and she just murmured back,

"No. I shouldn't."

"I think I'll jinx her," Voldemort said carefully, "to be certain she can't speak of you to any prying Ministry officials. If I'm careful, anything she tells them will be an untruth. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, Master. Thank you." Bellatrix just kept staring at the rose bush, and Voldemort's reflection nodded once, crisply. He turned and started to walk away, and then she heard him say cautiously,

"Bella?"

She finally turned, slowly, feeling empty. His face looked very sad in a way she'd never seen him look before. He opened his mouth, seemed like there was something he desperately wanted to say, shut his mouth and studied her, and finally mumbled,

"I love you very much."

Then he walked briskly from the lounge, off to speak rather harshly with his in-laws.

**Author's Note: Oh, dear. Way to go, Druella. But it's nice to see Voldemort be not just possessive, but protective, no? Now, what was that Dumbledore was doing in the White Wyvern? Talking about Bellatrix? Huh. ;) Thanks as always for reading and reviewing.**


	59. Decided

Voldemort scowled and grunted against the barrier of sleep. He didn't want to be awake; his body was fighting it. Something had awakened him in the middle of a sleep cycle, and his body very desperately wanted to still be sleeping. But he could hear a faint sound, and then he realised Bellatrix was crying. Then he realised that he was on his side, and that she was behind him, which was unusual for them during the middle of the night.

He rolled over slowly, blinking a few times, barely able to see in the pitch black of the night. He fumbled for his wand off the side table and mumbled an illumination spell for the sconces, and when he set his wand down again, he wished he had his glasses. His vision was awful these days; everything was blurry. He blinked again and asked in a low growl,

"Bella? What's the matter?"

"Nothing, Master," she lied, facing away from him. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"Why are you crying?" He pushed himself up onto an elbow, pulling back her curls from her face and squinting to see that her eyes were red and puffy. Her cheeks were splotched scarlet. She'd been crying for a long while. "Are you crying about your mother?"

"No," Bellatrix said, her voice sounding thick. "I just had a bad dream, that's all. A nightmare. I'm sorry."

She shut her eyes rather resolutely, and Voldemort cleared his throat as he licked his lip. He was unaccustomed to seeing Bellatrix like this. She almost never cried beyond a few stray tears. To see her trembling, sniffling, and convulsing with sobs was beyond unusual.

"Was it a nightmare about Azkaban?" Voldemort guessed, but Bellatrix just shook her head against her tear-soaked pillow and whispered,

"Please, let's just go back to sleep."

"You weren't sleeping," Voldemort reminded her. He lay down and encouraged her to roll over to face him. He stroked gently at her face and commanded her, "Tell me. Tell me what the dream was."

"Please don't make me," she said, but now he felt like he really needed to know. He raised his eyebrows and said quite firmly,

"Tell me."

Bellatrix chomped her lip hard and muttered, "I hate children. I hate them. They're sticky and they always  _need_  things. You get fat and you're sick when you're pregnant. And then you're in awful agony during birth, and then you have to either use your tits to feed them or pass them over to a House-Elf to raise them. But they're just sticky, noisy, needy, awful little creatures, and I  _hate_ them. I hate children."

Voldemort sighed and nodded against his own pillow. Suddenly his stomach ached, and his chest pulled, and he swallowed past a tightness in his throat as he whispered,

"You dreamed of a baby because your mother reminded you of your miscarriage. She taunted you about losing a child, and you thought of the miscarriage, and you dreamed of a baby. That's all."

"Mmm-hmm." Bellatrix nodded quickly, and Voldemort kept stroking at her cheek. He used his thumb to brush tears from her eyes, and he said gently,

"You don't have to hate them. You're allowed to hate them, but you don't have to hate them."

"I didn't hate the one in the dream." Bellatrix's eyes squeezed out fresh tears, and she sounded mildly horrified as she whispered, "it was a little girl. A little girl with wispy hair. She smelled like powder and she had dark eyes like you and me. I kept calling her something; I can't remember her name. I was singing her name, though, like a song. And I was standing out on the grass beyond the breakfast nook; it was summer. I was holding her. She was wearing a white eyelet dress and smiling at me. And I didn't hate her at all."

"Oh." Voldemort's breath hitched in his chest, very painfully indeed, and he blinked as quickly as he could to try and avoid the way his own eyes were burning all of a sudden. He wasn't sure why the mental image of Bellatrix holding a baby in the summer made him feel so strongly, but it did. He felt like there was a mighty weight on his chest then, and he started to pull himself out of bed. He made a move toward his bathroom, deciding he needed a moment alone. He shut the door and went to stand in front of the sink, staring into the mirror there.

He was getting old.

Even with his Horcruxes, he was getting old. He was forty-three, and it showed. It showed in the lines on his forehead that never went away anymore. It showed in the paper-thin, dark circles beneath his eyes, in the silvery threads through his thinning hair and the facial hair that grew in thick and coarse. He gripped the sides of the sink and stared at himself, at his dark brown eyes, and he glanced down at his tungsten wedding band.

He was the Dark Lord Voldemort ascending. He'd built a palace here in Adderbury House, a secret palace for his family. But his family, as of right now, was just him and his beautiful, eighteen-year-old wife. She was Undesirable Number One. Would they throw a pregnant witch into Azkaban? Perhaps not. Perhaps even Albus Dumbledore would have mercy on a pregnant witch. It was a perverse thought to have, Voldemort considered, that pregnancy might buy Bellatrix time to evade the Ministry and Dumbledore whilst allowing Voldemort to keep climbing.

And, if he was honest with himself, it was not the real reason he'd put a child in her. The real reason was that it had viscerally and mentally wrecked him to hold her whilst the detritus of her pregnancy had gushed out from between her legs. It had been awful to know that, however briefly and however accidentally, they had created something -  _someone_  - that had been lost.

Voldemort splashed some cold water on his face, relieved himself in the toilet, washed his hands and splashed his face again, and then went back out into the bedroom. He found Bellatrix sitting up in bed, clutching a glass of water that she'd had sitting on the side table. She'd calmed down a bit, though she was still red-faced and jerking randomly every now and then with leftover sobs. She looked apologetically at Voldemort as he walked toward the bed, and she told him,

"I'm very sorry, Master. I was being silly."

"You were not," he insisted, climbing back into the bed. But she set her water down and promised him,

"I'll never want a child. I hate children."

That actually wounded him, hearing her say that. He gulped hard and shrugged. "All right. Fine." He lay back down, turning away from her, and he muttered. "Goodnight."

There was silence then, and he figured she must be a little confused. But he shut his eyes, trying desperately to fall back to sleep. Bellatrix finally asked from behind him,

"Master… do you actually  _want_ a child?"

"I don't know," he snapped, keeping his eyes shut. "You're only eighteen. Let's have this conversation in ten years."

_When I'm fifty-three,_  he thought, his mind panicking at that thought. Then he felt sick, thinking that if they waited to have a child until Bellatrix was in her mid-thirties, he'd be around sixty years old. What sort of father could he be then?

"I never had a father," he barked against his pillow. "I've no need to be one."

"Need, or desire?" Bellatrix asked cautiously, and Voldemort did not answer. He finally cleared his throat and reminded her,

"I have both the need and the desire to be Lord Voldemort. Fatherhood is a sugary fantasy, nothing more."

"Oh." She sounded a little awed then, and she whispered, as if to herself, "A sugary fantasy."

He finally huffed and sat up, facing her, and he threw his hands up in defeat.

"Yes, Bellatrix. I never realised it, perhaps, until the night you woke me up bleeding, until I was holding you with blood and tissue rushing out from your body. I never realised it until it was almost there, until it was gone. Perhaps it took an accidental conception and a completely unanticipated miscarriage to make me realise that,  _yes_ , Bellatrix, I would actually like to experience fatherhood in my wretched, miserable excuse for a life. For that, I am endlessly sorry."

He panted then, for he'd spoken very quickly, and Bellatrix was staring at him with wide eyes. He was very frustrated by the way she was so blurry, so he snatched at the table and grabbed for his glasses, which he shoved onto his face. He shrugged and told her,

"Would we make good parents? I don't know. Probably not. Who cares? You have awful parents. I was raised in a damned Muggle orphanage. We certainly wouldn't be any worse than either of our upbringings. Do I think you'd be radiant, downright majestic as a mother? Yes, of course I do. Do I want to wait until I'm sixty years old to be a father? No, not especially."

Bellatrix stared at him in open-mouthed silence. She just stared and stared, for so long that Voldemort's heart began to race and his stomach fluttered, and he finally whispered,

"Say something."

"They wouldn't put a pregnant witch into Azkaban, I don't think," Bellatrix said at last, and Voldemort raised his eyebrows. He shrugged and shook his head, unwilling to admit to her that he'd already had the same thought.

"No," he said quietly. "Probably not."

"It would have to become public knowledge," she said. "Leaked. You'd have to get me pregnant as quickly as possible and then tell everyone, so that Dumbledore and the Aurors knew. They wouldn't kill me or put me into prison. Then at Death Eater meetings, it would be visibly obvious that I -"

"Sorry; is this now some sort of plot?" Voldemort interrupted, and Bellatrix lowered her eyes, picking at the blanket as she said softly,

"I am desperately trying to justify this decision to myself, Master, in a way that my mind can process."

"Oh." He sighed and reminded them both, "You're only eighteen. There is absolutely no rush. No need to -"

" _Finite Incantatem Contragravidarum_."

Voldemort went wide-eyed then, for Bellatrix had grabbed her wand and aimed it at her own abdomen, and she'd removed all the contraceptive charms they'd carefully been casting upon her. He shook his head and whispered,

"No. We'll talk through it some other time."

"I don't think there's anything else to discuss, Master," Bellatrix said primly, setting down her wand. She sniffed a little and said in a voice that was almost detached, "I dreamed of a child that I did not despise. You have made it quite clear that you long for fatherhood, preferably before you age too much further. I am Undesirable Number One, and pregnancy would likely protect me from being captured or killed while allowing you to continue your political manoeuvres. The timing, if I remember from my anatomy book, is not absolutely ideal at the moment, but there is no reason to leave the contraceptive charms in place."

She lay back down then, facing away from him, and Voldemort stared at her in wonder. She really was like ice and stone covered in iron, he thought. In all the best ways, she was a hardened witch these days. He adored her for it. He took his glasses off and set them down carefully on the side table, and something within him, a little smouldering flame, began to burn. He loved her very much right now. He loved her so much that he needed to feel her, to hold her.

He lay behind her, spooning her against him, and he pulled her curls aside to kiss softly at her neck. He felt her move her face a little, giving him more exposed skin, and he deepened his kiss. He stroked at her curls with one hand and cupped her breast through her nightgown with the other.

"Sweet Bella," he murmured against her neck. "Ferocious Bella. Beautiful, wicked, wonderful, terrifying Bellatrix."

"I love you, Master," she whispered. "Please give me your child."

That set a flame blazing inside of him. He felt blood flush straight to his cock, and he wrenched his pyjama trousers down as Bellatrix pulled up her nightgown and pushed down her knickers. When he touched at her, though, she was completely dry, and he whispered,

"We don't have to -"

"Can you cast a lubrication charm, please?" she asked, sounding very determined. Voldemort hesitated, but she turned her face to look at him, and she nodded. Voldemort kissed her hard on the mouth and nonverbally, wandlessly incanted,  _Lubrico_. There was slippery purchase beneath his fingers then, and he pushed her around a little until he could line up his cock. He thrust in, keeping his movements slow and shallow, cradling Bellatrix against him and burrowing his face into her sweet-smelling curls.

"I love you," she whispered, almost frantically, as he rocked his hips against her. "Please…  _please_ … I love you."

"Bella." Voldemort lost track of time. This felt so good, but not in a way that slammed a climax at him like pounding her from behind did. For a very long while, he just rocked, holding her against him, planting little kisses on her neck and shoulder, until finally he felt everything go warm and tight. The minor detonation of his orgasm was subtle but satisfying, and he moaned into her hair as he felt his come pumping into her. There was something odd in knowing for sure that she was entirely unprotected, that he very well could be putting a child in her right now. He twitched within her at that thought, and he kissed her cheek and reassured her,

"I can fix it. I can take care of it right this minute if you want, Bellatrix."

"No." She very slowly turned to lie on her back as he slid out of her. She looked steely and stubborn as she trained her eyes on the ceiling. She shook her head and informed him, "This is what I want. What you want. What we have decided upon together, Master."

He kissed her forehead and stroked her curls again, and he told her,

"It won't be anywhere near too late to fix it in the morning, or tomorrow night, or even the day after. So you just let me know the moment you need me to fix it."

"I won't," she said, pursing her lips and looking tenacious and steadfast. Voldemort smirked just a little, waiting for her to finally turn her eyes to him. He wanted his glasses back; she was blurry again. But he squinted a little at her and said,

"You know, I think any child raised by you would be a proper little spitfire in all the right ways, and I would very much like to see it. I would very much like to look out the window and see you holding that baby with the wispy hair. And I'd like to hold that baby, too, I think."

Bellatrix's eyes welled again, and as she stared up at the ceiling, she whispered, "I didn't hate her. I loved her. That's why I was crying, Master; I  _loved_  her."

"All right. Let's go to sleep," Voldemort suggested, and he lay down beside her. He arranged himself on his back, and Bellatrix curled up snugly beside him.

**Author's Note: Leave it to Bellatrix and Voldemort to justify getting 18-year-old Bellatrix pregnant under the logic of, "Well, they wouldn't throw a pregnant witch into Azkaban, would they?" Obviously, many of you picked up on the idea that both of them had very different reactions to the miscarriage than in my previous Bellamort stories. But one act of unprotected sex does not always a pregnancy make! And we still have Dumbledore, an angry Ministry, and the fact that Bellatrix is Undesirable Number One to contend with! Time for an action chapter!**


	60. Quercus

Bellatrix stared at her fingers and gulped.

There was scarlet blood dripping from her index and middle fingers, evidence of her monthly cycle, proof that she had not conceived. She sighed and rinsed her fingers in the sink and aimed her wand between her legs.

" _Quercus,_ " she incanted, and she felt the Witch's Stopper Charm take hold. Her perfectly normal bleeding would be caught and Vanished. She shut her eyes and held onto the edges of the sink, and then she determined to ready herself for the Death Eaters' meeting she and Voldemort were scheduled to attend. She picked up her toothbrush and unscrewed her container of charcoal powder, and she scrubbed roughly at her teeth until they were impossibly clean. She rinsed her mouth and washed her face with lavender soap, and then she deodorised her armpits with a quick spell.

She went out to her dressing area and pulled on plain black knickers and a simple white cotton bra, and she dressed in black leggings with flat boots, a black velvet tunic, and a wide buckled belt. She yanked her hair into pigtail braids and bound them tightly with velvet ribbons, and she lined her eyes heavily with kohl liner. She painted her lips with a dark plum colour and then slid her wand into the holster round her belt. She stalked out of her dressing room and went to the reception room, waiting in the pale blue and red space.

It was brightly sunny today, though very cold indeed. The end of January, Bellatrix thought, was always an odd time of year. The merriment of the Christmas season had long passed, but winter had not yet given up on its fierce and bitter assault, even on sunny days like this.

"Oh… are you coming?" Voldemort came walking out from his own dressing area, looking quite sharp in tailored black velvet robes, and Bellatrix frowned as she stood.

"Of course I am, Master," she said. "Why wouldn't I?"

He shifted where he stood. "Erm… this isn't an all-hands meeting. I'm sorry if I wasn't clear. I'm just meeting with Abraxas, Yaxley, Rookwood, and Avery to discuss some Ministry matters. It's a smaller… erm…"

He could sense her disappointment. She could see in his face that he knew she'd been looking forward to leaving Adderbury House, where she'd been holed up ever since the disastrous family gathering ten days earlier. Voldemort smiled a little and tipped his head.

"You know, why don't you come? Sit in on the meeting. What we're discussing concerns you, anyway. I'm trying to get that necklace back. The pearl and diamond one, your Great Aunt Cassiopeia's piece that was confiscated in the Ministry raid."

"Oh." Bellatrix nodded. "Oh. Thank you, Master. I'll just sit quietly. I won't be a bother. Promise."

"You're never a bother," he said sincerely, and she smirked a little at him. He hesitated, and then he told her, "I got two new pairs of glasses. Jasper Bulstrode met with me at Malfoy Manor the other day, you know; he does excellent optometric magic. Anyway, he said you were right. My old glasses were a little weak. So he had a few pairs made up. Will you tell me which ones you like best?"

She grinned and nodded, following him back into his dressing space. It was much simpler than hers, lacking in a boudoir and containing tie racks and more hanging space. He opened a drawer at an accessories desk and pulled out two sets of frames, and he pulled off his old black frames. He put on the first pair, a round set of tortoiseshell frames. Bellatrix narrowed her eyes.

"Hmm," she said, and he snorted a laugh. They weren't the most flattering things she'd ever seen, and he obviously knew that. He yanked them off and then pulled the other pair on. The second pair was much sexier, with black horn around the top and black wire on the bottom. They had black marbling on the sides, and they fit his face just so with their slightly angled shape. Bellatrix smiled and nodded, and she said quietly,

"Perfect."

He just stared at her for a very long moment, and he finally whispered, " _Legilimens._ "

Bellatrix sucked in breath and took down her Occlumency shields. She turned her face away. She could tell he sensed sorrow in her this morning, that he felt her little pang of violet grief. She watched in her mind as he pulled the vision of her examining her bloodied fingers, then rinsing them and watching the blood streak down the white porcelain sink. He delicately pulled out of her mind, and he adjusted his glasses on his face and shrugged as he told her,

"You are so young. There is all the time in the world."

"Yes, Master," she whispered, nodding, and she approached him, reaching for his hand. She smiled up at him, knowing it did not reach her eyes, and she asked, "Shall we go?"

* * *

"Good morning, Mr Avery." Bellatrix nodded as she came into the meeting room. She sat and studied Avery's face; she hadn't spoken directly with the man since he'd brought her here to Malfoy Manor after her release from Azkaban. Then, he'd seemed paternal. Now he seemed a little afraid of her. He nodded back and stammered,

"G-Good morning, Madam Black."

Once Bellatrix had arranged herself in a seat, Yaxley and Rookwood came into the room, and they both bowed respectfully to Bellatrix, which surprised her. She just smiled shyly at them, not knowing what to say. Finally, Abraxas and Voldemort came in, and Bellatrix pulled herself to her feet with the rest. Voldemort gestured for them all to sit, and he got straight to business.

"Obviously," he said simply, "we are all aware that Bellatrix is wanted by the Ministry. They sent Aurors to her parents' house in London, and some family heirlooms were confiscated as so-called 'evidence.' I think we can all agree that Cassiopeia Black's diamond and pearl necklace does not constitute any form of evidence."

"Do you think there's a chance that Dumbledore or someone else arranged for the necklace to be taken as evidence to lure us into a break-in, Master?" asked Abraxas Malfoy, and Voldemort nodded.

"I've considered that. I'm willing to take my chances. I think we're doing just about everything we can on our end to lure Dumbledore into battle, and he's doing the same. We need to get that necklace back. Yaxley, who do you have that can access the evidence storage in the Auror Office?"

Yaxley looked very thoughtful for a long moment, and finally he nodded. "Harper Travers. She works overnight shifts on the janitorial staff. She isn't the brightest witch in the world, but she's from clean Pureblood origins. She could be Imperiused to get the right item."

"Good," Voldemort nodded. "Bring her to me. I want to Imperius the girl myself."

"Oh. She's… she's elderly," Yaxley reminded him. "She's an old maid, Master. Harper Travers, you'll recall, was dropped as an infant by a clumsy House-Elf who was summarily executed. She was never right afterward. She's kind-hearted, though. I'm sure you'll find that she'll bend to your will and procure the necklace for you. And if it's missing, and you alter her memory, they won't be able to blame her."

"Right. That will do fine. I'll meet her here next week. Monday? Noon? See if we can get that arranged, Yaxley. Abraxas, work with Yaxley and Travers to set that up."

"Yes, Master," Abraxas nodded. Voldemort turned to Rookwood and asked sharply,

"Why didn't we know the Aurors were coming on Christmas Day? Why didn't we know they were going to raid the Black family home?"  
"To be honest, Master, infiltrating the upper ranks of the Aurors has been proving exceptionally difficult," Rookwood confessed. "They are suspicious of applicants to the training programme; they won't accept anyone who hasn't undergone their training. They train their Aurors stiffly against Imperius Curses. It's been difficult. We will keep working at it. Our best hope would be to crack into the mind of Icarus Deacon. He's currently the Head of the Auror Office. If we could just get through him… if we could get him under an Imperius Curse… the department would be ours. Going bottom-up isn't working."

"Icarus Deacon," Voldemort nodded. "You keep working at Icarus Deacon, Rookwood. Yaxley, you bring me Harper Travers so I can get her ready to procure the necklace out of evidence storage. That will be all, unless anyone has questions."

"I have one question, Master," Abraxas said, very cautiously indeed. He stared at Bellatrix for a moment, and then he pinched his lips. He asked Voldemort, "How can we protect Madam Black from the fact that the Ministry of Magic has placed a thirty thousand Galleon bounty on her? Anyone who turns her into the Ministry gets a thirty thousand Galleon reward."

Voldemort huffed and shrugged. "I'll be issuing a decree. It'll go out to all of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Anyone who tries to claim that bounty will be executed with a quick Killing Curse, and their entire family will be tortured into insanity. The end."

Abraxas nodded gravely. Yaxley and Rookwood lowered their eyes, both seeming very serious. Bellatrix wishes, all of a sudden, that she had the ability to just blurt out that she was pregnant and the Ministry couldn't haul a pregnant woman off to prison, anyway. But she couldn't. She was bleeding, and so she was still wanted, and the bounty still stood. She sniffed a little, grateful that Voldemort was trying to get her family heirloom back.

"Dismissed," Voldemort said quietly. As everyone started to leave, Voldemort said, "Abraxas. I have a few things I need you to go fetch for me from Diagon Alley. Here."

He pulled out a little scrap of parchment and a bag of coins from his robes, and Abraxas took them. He nodded and read aloud,

"Owl treats, Dreamless Sleep, Draught of Peace, felt-lined men's leather gloves, a record of the ballet  _February Scarlet_ , and one scoop of… Pistachio ice cream."

He smirked a bit, first at Voldemort and then at Bellatrix, as he folded the list and tucked it away with the money. Bellatrix felt her eyes burn a bit, and Abraxas told Bellatrix,

"He really does love you, you know."

"I know," Bellatrix nodded, and she watched Abraxas bow, first to her and then to Voldemort, before he turned to leave the meeting room.

**Author's Note: Womp, womp. Not pregnant this month. But Voldemort's trying to get the pearl and diamond necklace back! And he's willing to kill and torture anyone who threatens Bellatrix's safety! And… ice cream!**


	61. Starling

_Master,_

_I have, I believe, secured a solid contender for placement into the Auror training programme this summer. Ryder Wyatt is a seventh-year Ravenclaw who is slated to receive exceptional scores on his N.E.W.T.s. He is, by all accounts, at once serious and tenacious. He is a Half-Blood; his mother is a Selwyn and his father is a Mudblood. This may help throw the Ministry off the scent a bit. I met personally with him the day before he went back to school. He seems very amenable to working for us if he's accepted as an Auror. If he is accepted into the training programme, I shall bring him to you for inspection. I hope this is satisfactory progress in this difficult department. I shall continue working diligently, however, to get personal access to Icarus Deacon. If there is anything else you need of me, please only ask. I remain, as always, your loyal servant._

_Augustus Rookwood_

Voldemort Vanished the letter, feeling quite pleased with what Rookwood had written him. He let out a happy little sound and adjusted his glasses on his face, taking a sip of his warm pear cider. The ceramic mug felt good in his hands, and he breathed in the spiced scent of the soothing drink. He set it down when there was a knock on the door of his office, and he called,

"Enter."

The door, wide and thick like all here at Malfoy Manor, creaked open, and Levi Travers, one of Tom Riddle's old school compatriots and a Death Eater stationed at the post office in Hogsmeade, came walking in. Levi Travers was actually the same age as Cygnus Black, so Voldemort had only known him in passing during their school years, but Travers had been quick to latch onto the movement once Voldemort had returned from the Continent. Now he was the assistant postmaster very near Hogwarts, and he spied on both conversations and letters for Voldemort. He came walking into the office now with an elderly witch in tow, a white-haired, stoop-backed woman who looked kindly but dim in the eyes.

"Just in hear, Aunt Harper," Travers said. He gave Voldemort an apologetic look. Harper Travers was Levi's great aunt; she was the sister of his paternal grandfather. Harper had been born in 1880 and dropped on her head a year later by a clumsy House-Elf who'd been charged with taking care of her. The House-Elf had been eliminated, but Harper's cognition had never been right, and she'd never married. She'd lived with her parents until their death, then with her brother, Levi Travers' grandfather. Once he'd died, Harper had moved in with Levi's parents, and now she lived with Levi and his wife. Levi's twin sons were first-year Slytherins, Voldemort knew. He stood politely from his desk and bowed his head crisply.

"Ms Travers. Welcome. Please, will you sit?"

"Hullo," she said blandly. She pointed a bony finger at Voldemort, and a look of recognition came over her face. "You're that boy Abraxas!"

"No, Aunt Harper. This the Dark Lord. You may simply call him  _Sir_ ," said Levi Travers in a warmer voice than Voldemort was accustomed to hearing. He sat beside Harper, and he told her, "The Dark Lord is going to just do a quick few things, and then we can go get some delicious lunch, all right?"

"All right." Harper looked around, smiling a little. "Pretty books you have. Lovely ones. Red. Brown. Even black ones! Lots of books."

"Do you like pretty things, Ms Travers?" Voldemort asked, and Harper nodded with a broad, toothy grin.

"I love pretty things."

Voldemort pushed his glasses up his nose. "I'm in search of a very pretty thing, and I wonder if you'll help me find it. It's something you can get for me at work. You work at the Ministry of Magic, don't you?"

"Yes! I clean for them," Harper said proudly. "Dust all the shelves. Sweep all the floors. I know all the right spells! I know how to Scour and shine."

"Do you know how to unlock storage drawers?" Voldemort asked lightly, and Harper looked thoughtful for a long moment.

"Unlock? Hm.  _Alohomora,_ " she smiled, seeming lost for a long moment. Voldemort nodded.

"Mmm-hmm. And if I asked you, Ms Travers, about evidence storage in the Auror Office… do you know what that is?"

Her eyes went wide. She leaned forward and whispered, "It's where they keep the things the bad people use. The things from their houses, from the scenes of what they've done. Bad things. Bad people."

"Pretty things, sometimes," Voldemort considered, touching his fingertips together. "Did you know that there's a necklace in there? In evidence storage? It's made of pearls and diamonds."

Harper laughed softly. "I saw it. Don't tell, but I tried it on. Shhh…"

She touched her finger to her lip, and Levi Travers looked scandalised. Voldemort smiled a little and patiently asked,

"You tried it on?"

"I was dusting," Harper hissed, "and I saw it. So pretty. Sparkly. I tried it on."

"Would you give it to Levi so he can bring it to me? I'd like to see it," Voldemort said. Harper frowned then and shook her head.

"No, no, no. It isn't allowed to leave that room. All evidence stays in storage. I was bad, trying it on, but I put it back. I won't give it to you; that'd be bad."

"I understand." Voldemort moved slowly, not wanting to alarm Harper, and he gently pulled out his wand and aimed it at her. She recoiled back a little, but he said quite firmly, " _Imperio._ "

Green smoke washed over her, and she gave absolutely no resistance whatsoever to him. Her mind was entirely his, he could feel. Voldemort said carefully,

"Harper. Tonight, when you're cleaning in evidence storage, I want you to take the diamond and pearl necklace, the one you tried on. I want you to give it to Levi. Don't worry about what happens after that. If you are apprehended, you simply explain that you wanted the necklace for yourself. You thought it was pretty, and you were stealing it for yourself. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Harper nodded and looked dreamy. Voldemort gave a crisp look to Levi Travers and instructed him,

"When she gives you the necklace, you bring it straight here. Abraxas Malfoy will send it to me securely. I'll release the Imperius Curse once her task is complete."

"Yes, Master." Levi Travers bowed his head and rose, and he said, "Come, Aunt Harper. Let's go get lunch."

* * *

The next day, Voldemort made his way through the back corridor of Adderbury House, listening to the pounding strains of the piano in  _February Scarlet_. It was an aggressive ballet, a newer work that insisted upon assertive choreography. So he was unsurprised, upon entering Bellatrix's ballet studio, to find her wearing a black leotard and a red practise skirt, already looking sweaty and fatigued.

She was marching across the floor now as the piano on the record thumped. Her legs extended out straight one at a time and then hit the floor elegantly. Now she thrust her arms downward and pushed them apart, moving her head as if coming up through water. These movements were fluid and careful, but more angry than those from  _Starlina_  or  _Viviana._  Bellatrix leaned forward hard on a bent leg, pushing her other leg up into an  _arabesque_  with a flexed foot. She thrust her arm forward as if slamming a door shut, then whirled through two spins in a row. When she landed, she swirled her arms up, extended her body as tall as she could, then leaped to the side and rolled carefully across the floor. She jumped up to stand, arching her back and caressing her curves seductively as the music slowed a little. She was beautiful like this. Sexy. Spinning, leaping, bending, twisting, diving, pushing. She was moving like she was in water, like was in the air. Voldemort sighed as he watched, awestruck by her grace and precision. The dance ended with Bellatrix on her knees, her hands clasped together at her chest, her face tipped back, her chest heaving. The piano faded to silence.

She turned her face to him, smirking a bit and blowing stray hair from her eyes, and she told him,

"Thank you for this record, Master. I needed something more contemporary to dance to, I think."

"You dance beautifully," he told her, just like he'd always said. "I have something for you."

He beckoned to her, and when she rose and came walking with plodding little steps toward him, he pulled out the pearl and diamond necklace from the pocket of his outer robe. He said seriously,

"The weakest minds are the easiest to control. All Harper Travers had to do was steal it. Now… she's likely to wind up in Azkaban, because the Ministry will know it went missing, and they'll know it was her. Travers carefully altered her memory so she thinks it was her own idea to take it. She doesn't remember meeting with me about it. Dumbledore will know, of course, but we aren't trying to hide anything from him anymore. In any case… if you'd like, we can send this to your mother by owl. Or you deliver it. Or I can. Whatever you'd like."

Bellatrix stared at the necklace in Voldemort's hand and nodded. "I think… I think I will write her a letter. A long letter, explaining to her that I am sorry I am not the daughter she wanted, but that I hope someday she and I can manage to make it through tea without anyone screaming or crying. I will send her the necklace and tell her that I think it will look very pretty round Narcissa's neck on the day she marries the son of the Dark Lord's right-hand man. And that, obviously, I will be at that wedding."

Voldemort turned up half his mouth and nodded. Bellatrix stared up at him, her eyes a little wet, and her breath shook as she told him sincerely,

"Thank you, Master, for getting it back. Thank you."

"I can think of no limit," he said quietly, "to the things I would do for you. This is nothing. Nothing at all."

Bellatrix carefully took the necklace from his hand, brushing her thumb over the pearls and the diamonds between them. She looked around the room, the dance studio he'd converted for her in the palatial home he'd made. She seemed slightly overwhelmed then, and she murmured very quietly,

"Starling."

"Hmm?" Voldemort pushed some of the sweaty waves from Bellatrix's eyes, which she shut as she mumbled.

"Nothing. Sorry. Thank you again for getting the necklace, Master. I'll send it to my mother today."

"No rush," he told her, bending to kiss her forehead and tasting salt there. He turned and started to walk from the ballet studio, and as he did, he heard her go over to her record player and start to solo from  _February Scarlet_  over again. Thudding piano music accompanied him all the way down the corridor and out into the catwalk.

**Author's Note: Starling? What's Starling? Ahhh! What exactly will Bellatrix's note to her mother say, and how will the Ministry/** _ **The Daily Prophet**_   **react to the break-in? Mwah hahaha.**


	62. Murmuration

_Dear Mum,_

_By now, you've probably noticed the package attached to this letter. Why don't you go ahead and open it? I'll wait._

_Right, so, by now you've noticed that I've sent you Great Aunt Cassiopeia's pearl and diamond necklace. My husband got it back for you through his great influence. You're welcome._

_I am very sorry that I am not the daughter you wish I was, but I hope you understand that I was never going to be the daughter you wanted. I was never going to be Narcissa. Maybe I'm not a Blood Traitor like Andromeda, but you were never going to love me. I was always going to be Dark and dangerous. I was always going to be malicious in a way that would make you hate me. I hope someday you can hate me just a little less. I hope someday you can tolerate me just enough to sit down to tea with me and have a civil conversation. That would be nice, wouldn't it?_

_When Narcissa and Lucius get married, it will undoubtedly be at Malfoy Manor. The Dark Lord will be there, and, as his wife, I'll be there on his arm. And I'm sure I'll notice how very beautiful Great Aunt Cassiopeia's pearl and diamond necklace looks around Cissy's neck._

_I'll always love you, Mum, no matter what you think of me._

_Bellatrix_

She blew on the ink to dry it, then rolled it up and sealed it with plain black wax. She made her way out of the library with the parcel she'd be attaching - a small box containing the pearl and diamond necklace, bound in brown paper. Bellatrix went into Voldemort's office, where he was staring through his narrow reading glasses at the day's copy of the  _Daily Prophet_ , and she asked him,

"Master? Have you got an owl available to send this off?"

"Oh. Here; let me ring Plinky." Voldemort sat up in his chair and pushed the call button on his desk, a little silver bell that would Summon Plinky from wherever he was in the house. A moment later, Plinky appeared out of thin air, and he looked eagerly between Bellatrix and Voldemort. Bellatrix shoved the scroll and parcel at Plinky and said,

"Send this off at once, Plinky. It's going to Druella Black in London."

"Y-Yes, M-Madam Bella… Madam Bellatrix!" Plinky dashed off quickly, and once he was gone, Bellatrix sighed and sank into the chair opposite Voldemort. She looked dour today, she knew. She had too much makeup on; she'd been playing around with cosmetics this morning. She'd styled her hair into a tight braided bun and had put on lipstick that was so dark it was almost black. She had heavy dark plum eyeshadow and black liner on, and she'd powdered her face pale. But Voldemort told her,

"You're very beautiful today."

She smirked a bit and shook her head, and she asked, "Anything interesting in the paper?"

"Yes." Voldemort silently set down the newspaper, and Bellatrix gasped a little as she picked it up.

_HARPER TRAVERS CONVICTED IN MINISTRY BREAK-IN!_

"They arrested her? Harper Travers?" Bellatrix stared wide-eyed at Voldemort, and he summarised the lead article.

"When they interrogated her, she confessed to stealing the necklace. She told them she thought it was very pretty when she'd been cleaning, and she liked to try it on. She took it home, she told them. They searched Levi Travers' house; he very wisely let them turn the place upside down."

"But they wouldn't find it," Bellatrix said in confusion. Voldemort gave her a very knowing look and shrugged.

" _Gemino,_ " he said simply, and Bellatrix's mouth fell open. She scoffed and then laughed.

"You Multiplied the necklace," she said. "You gave my mother back the original, and you let them find the replica in Levi Travers' house."

"Yes," Voldemort nodded. "This way, everyone wins. Your mother gets her family heirloom back, the Ministry finds the missing evidence, the thief is apprehended… and Levi Travers no longer has to care for his daft great aunt. Everybody wins."

"Everyone except for Harper Travers," Bellatrix said disbelievingly, but Voldemort held up a finger.

"You're forgetting," he said, "about Albus Dumbledore's unshakeable mercy. He is, after all, on the Wizengamot. And all the evidence pointed to dear, batty Harper Travers stealing that priceless piece of Auror evidence. But you can't very well go throwing a cognitively disabled witch into Azkaban, can you? Not if you're Albus Dumbledore. No. He saw to it that Harper will live out the rest of her days in St Mungo's, in the residential ward for the incurably senile. Mercy. Everybody wins. Even Harper Travers."

Bellatrix smiled a little and tossed the newspaper back down onto the desk. She huffed out a breath and asked, "Do you think he knows? Dumbledore? You think he knows that you arranged it all?"

Voldemort shrugged. "Let him have his suspicions. I'll keep my truths. It's unseasonably warm. Let's go for a walk."

They got their warm cloaks, for though it was 'warm,' it was still the beginning of February, and so it was still chilly enough to necessitate bundling. The sun was starting to set, and the sky was shifting from golden to lavender. Bellatrix didn't mind. She walked hand in hand with Voldemort out the door beyond the library, and the two of them started to plod on past the rose gardens. Bellatrix glanced back and said softly,

"Those will be stunning in the summer. The roses."

"They will. Better than Malfoy Manor's," Voldemort agreed. He smiled down at her a bit, having switched his glasses to his distance ones, and he gazed out upon all their land. He paused, and she stared up at him as he stared out along the expansive field. Bellatrix followed his eyes, and suddenly her breath caught.

"Birds," she whispered, for in the distance, where the lavender sky was slipping into a deeper violet, a black cloud of birds was moving like an ocean wave upon the air. Bellatrix watched in wonder as the unit moved as one, dancing just elegantly as she'd ever danced. She blinked a few times, awed and amazed by the sight of the ebbing, flowing flock.

"It is a murmuration," Voldemort informed her. "A murmuration of starlings."

"What?" Bellatrix's stomach flopped at the word. She panted a little and ripped her eyes from the birds. She stared up at him, and he seemed surprised by her reaction. He shrugged.

"That's what it's called, when a great group of them flies together like that. A murmuration of starlings."

"Oh." Bellatrix just turned her face back toward the birds, and she started to walk toward them. Her boots made soft sounds upon the dry, wispy grass, and her long woolen skirts dragged. She couldn't keep her breath from being quick and shallow as she reached up with one hand, trying in vain to catch the phantom flock of birds and bring them toward her. After she'd walked for a long while, she stopped, and she turned slowly over her shoulder to see Voldemort back by the house, staring at her very intently. Bellatrix could hear the starlings' wings thudding, beating like heartbeats, and she turned back to see the murmuration scattering. The birds were heading for the trees, roosting in the branches. She watched them settle, watched them find peace, and she slowly lowered herself to her knees. She took a breath in and held it, shutting her eyes and smelling powder. She let the breath out and heard a soft cry.

"Starling," she whispered, and she slowly lowered herself onto her back on the grass. She lay there for what felt like an eternity, not minding the cold or the rough grass around her. She stared up at the sky, at the way the purple turned to cerulean, to deep blue. She watched the pinpoints of silver stars appear one by one in the heavens. Then she heard boot steps beside her, and Voldemort sat, and he asked her,

"How many days since you began bleeding?"

She froze, staring upward. "Thirteen days, Master."

"The timing would seem… ideal," he mumbled, and Bellatrix nodded. Voldemort sighed a little from beside her, and his voice was quiet as he informed her,

"I dreamed of a bird sometimes when you were in prison. I dreamed of a black bird with iridescent feathers. Hints of blue and green and purple."

"A starling," Bellatrix suggested, and Voldemort just started to strip off his heavy cloak. He began to move, to pull his body atop Bellatrix's and to use his cloak like a blanket for them. Bellatrix gasped, yanking up her skirts and thrusting down her white cotton knickers. She brought her knees up as Voldemort reached between them to unbutton his trousers and pull himself out, and she heard him whisper,

"I need… we both need this, I think."

"Master." She needed to be kissed,  _now_ , and he fortunately obliged her. He planted soft little kisses on her lips as she wrapped her legs around him, and then as he pushed his half-hard cock into her, he deepened the kiss. Bellatrix felt him firm up within her, felt him twitch a little, and he silently took hold of her face and her waist as he began to pump his hips.

She stared up beyond him. Stars upon stars. Velvet sky into which she could fall forever. She'd been waiting for this, for him, for  _them._  She began to cry, unable to help herself, unable to find blankness now. He kissed her through her tears, apparently untroubled by the way she was so emotional. He just moved, smooth as an oiled machine, above her, and he kissed and kissed her.

"I love you, Bella," he promised her. "I will always love you. I will  _always_  adore you. You understand that?"

"Yes." Bellatrix tipped her head back, feeling overwhelmed. She smelled the grass, the night air. Him. She felt and heard the rustle of the field in the breeze. She heard the cries of the starlings. She kissed her husband, her lord, her master. She came, subtly but satisfactorily, and then he did. He came and filled her with his seed, and he buried his face into the crook of her neck.

"Bellatrix," he whispered. She held fast to him, willing him not to slip out of her, not to stand up and go inside.

Eventually, they had to. They couldn't sleep in the middle of the field. Somehow, Bellatrix didn't really mind walking back in the pitch black, her knickers soaked with come, holding Voldemort's hand in silence. She didn't mind curling up beside him in bed and saying nothing at all. She didn't mind falling asleep dreaming of a flock that went on forever, that never stopped moving, of an inky black sea, of a sky full of stars upon stars upon stars upon stars.

**Author's Note: Oh, my. If you can feel everything starting to come together… then you're on board the train. Haha.**


	63. Congratulations

Voldemort woke in desperate want of sex. He had to have been dreaming about it, he thought, for he woke rigid between his legs and with his breath coming quick and shallow. He kissed Bellatrix's forehead and rubbed at her arm to wake her, and she roused slowly. He heard her giggle a little as she squirmed beside him, and she whispered,

"Insistent this morning, My Lord."

"Very." He rolled her a little until she was spooned before him, and then he reached around and squeezed at her breast.

" _Ahh!_ " She cried out in discomfort, and Voldemort frowned at once. His hand froze; he'd barely squeezed at all. Bellatrix shoved his hand away and moaned softly, "Ow. That hurt."

"What?" Voldemort was incredulous. Bellatrix rolled slowly to face him, and as she gently massaged her breast, he felt his eyes go wide. He started counting days. Tender breasts? She'd vomited yesterday, too; she'd been sick at breakfast, saying her eggs smelled off.

"Bellatrix," he said cautiously, "are you… you know, late?"

She shut her eyes and whispered, " _twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three…_  oh. Oh, my."

Her eyes sprang open, and then she choked out a laugh. She grinned and nodded, and she exclaimed, "I am! Yes.  _Very_  late. Oh. Oh, my goodness."

She sat up quickly and clasped her hands to her mouth. Then her face went very pale indeed, and she was suddenly dashing from the bed, running with padding little feet into her white and copper bathroom. Voldemort listened to the sound of her retching into the toilet, and he lay back down, staring at the ceiling and smiling to himself.

"Starling," he whispered, imagining the black bird with its shining feathers, the flock of thousands moving together as one. He imagined Bellatrx in a summer field of grass, clutching a wispy-haired, dark-eyed infant in a white eyelet dress. His eyes welled heavily, and he decided he ought to go fetch a Nonemesis Potion to clear up Bellatrix's nausea and vomiting for her.

* * *

"Abraxas, can I tell you something in confidence?" Voldemort asked, walking over to the great marble globe and spinning it a little. Abraxas looked surprised, but he set down his firewhisky and said confidently,

"You can tell me anything, My Lord."

Voldemort stopped spinning the globe and said,

"I'm not telling you this as your master. I'm telling this as… as your friend."

"Oh." Abraxas raised his ice-blond eyebrows then and nodded. He sat in an armchair before the fireplace and gestured opposite him. Voldemort sank down and noted,

"I see you've joined the ranks of the bespectacled, Abraxas."

Malfoy smirked, adjusting his silver wire-rimmed glasses. "Age clutches us all eventually, doesn't it?"

"It does." Voldemort nodded and cleared his throat a little. He drummed his fingers on his chair, glanced at the fireplace, and said finally, "Bellatrix is pregnant. Confirmed by a potion test a few hours before I came over here."

"My goodness." Abraxas looked shocked, but then he grinned and said enthusiastically, "Congratulations, Master. Really. I couldn't be happier for the both of you."

"She's miscarried once," Voldemort confessed, "so we are… cautiously optimistic."

"Ah. Yes, that… that happened to Aeta once," Abraxas said. "It is quite common, I'm afraid. But then we got Lucius, and he became… everything. They have a way of doing that to you, children. They become everything."

"They don't suck you dry?" Voldemort asked, and Abraxas shook his head fiercely.

"Oh, no. No. They breathe new life into you. Make and keep you young. Teach you how to be new. It's strange and wonderful, the things they do to you. Children. And they do become everything. It was the hardest part of separating from Aeta. I missed her laugh, and her friendship, but I was never in love with her. Losing her as a wife wasn't the hard part. It was the fact that she took my Lucius away for so much of the time. And so I missed so very much of his growing up, and I'll never get it back. If I may dare to offer you any smidge of advice, Master… try not to miss any of the growing up."

Abraxas' pale blue eyes were heavy with unshed tears suddenly, which surprised Voldemort. Abraxas' breath shook a little, and he shook his head, looking embarrassed. He shrugged and said,

"Now Lucius is almost a man grown. Betrothed to a pretty young witch he'll make his wife. I am proud of him. He is still everything to me. Even when they grow up, they're still everything."

Voldemort wasn't sure what to say to that. He just stared at the fire for a very long moment, and finally he murmured,

"I never thought I would be a husband, much less a father. And now I find myself rather anxious to be a powerful Dark Lord who happens to also be a husband and father. Strange, isn't it?"

"No. Not at all, Master," Abraxas insisted. "Not in the least bit strange. The people will love you all the more if you've got a family, I think."

"A family," Voldemort repeated, nodding. He shut his eyes and imagined Bellatrix crouched down in the rose garden. He could see a little child with her, a creature with inky black curls that hung around her shoulders in ringlets. She was still in a white eyelet dress, bigger now. Bellatrix still looked so young, so beautiful.

"Master?" Abraxas said, and Voldemort opened his eyes to see his only real friend smiling a little at him. Abraxas nodded and said again, "Congratulations."

* * *

"Plinky! I need my winter cloak. It's freezing out." Bellatrix was anxious; she hadn't told the Dark Lord that she was going to her parents' house. She'd sent an owl off to them as soon as he'd gone to Malfoy Manor, informing her parents that she was coming for a visit, that she had news. She felt that this warranted a visit to her mother in person.

Now Plinky handed her her cloak, and Bellatrix fastened the clasp with steady gloved hands. She Disapparated at once, concentrating hard on the idea of her parents' home in London. She could see the glossy painted door, the steps outside the front. She landed hard on the sidewalk out front, and then she gasped.

Before her, in front of the gate leading to her parents' house, stood Albus Dumbledore, plain as you please, in lavender-grey robes and a jaunty fez-style cap. Bellatrix was about to Disapparate, to flee, but before she could, Dumbledore said very calmly,

" _Expelliarmus._ "

Bellatrix gasped as her wand whizzed out of the holster around her hip and flew into Dumbledore's hand. She shook her head and looked around.

"We're going to do this here?" she demanded, and Dumbledore shrugged.

"Do what, Miss Black?"

"Madam," she corrected, and he nodded slowly.

"Congratulations on the marriage."

"I am pregnant," she said very confidently, and Dumbledore tipped his head.

"Congratulations are doubly in order, it would seem. A great many things to celebrate. But those celebrations are for another time, and another place. Please, Madam Black, do come with me now."

"I am here to speak with my mother," Bellatrix said firmly. But behind Dumbledore, she saw the curtains of her parents' sitting room pull back, and Druella and Cygnus Black stared out at her, looking terrified. Bellatrix's stomach sank. They  _knew_. They  _knew_ that Dumbledore was here. How was this possible? Had they betrayed her? Hadn't Voldemort jinxed Druella? But that was only so she couldn't tell the Ministry anything; Bellatrix had…

She had sent an owl. An owl that could easily be forwarded to Dumbledore without speaking an untruth.

Druella and Cygnus had betrayed their own daughter. As they stared out the window at her, Bellatrix shook her head, her eyes searing, and plum-coloured, red-flecked betrayal flared up within her. She tried to shove it away, but it was replaced with crimson anger. She glared at Dumbledore and insisted,

"I will tell you nothing."

"I don't think you'll need to," Dumbledore said. "I think this wand - the wand you are legally quite explicitly forbidden from possessing - will tell us everything we need to know. Now, Madam Black… please do come with me."

Bellatrix gasped then as she was quickly Summoned to Dumbledore's side and yanked through the black, pinching void of Side-Along Apparition.

**Author's Note: Oh, dear! Bellatrix is in quite a pickle now. Pregnant! Betrayed! Captured! What will Voldemort do to get her back, and what will he do to punish her parents? I'd love to hear your thoughts.**


	64. Gone

"Plinky! Where is Madam Bellatrix? I've searched this entire house; she's nowhere to be found." Voldemort threw his hands up, and the little House-Elf stared up at him with wide eyes.

"She's g-gone, Master," Plinky said. "She D-D-Disapparated, about two hours ago. Wore her cloak and g-gloves."

Voldemort huffed angrily. "Where was she going? She didn't say?"

"N-No, Master, b-b-but she did send an owl a while b-b-before," Plinky admitted. "A letter to D-Druella B-B-Black in London, Master."

Voldemort scowled. Of course she'd felt compelled to go tell Druella and Cygnus in person. Should he chase after her? Probably not. If things got nasty between Druella and Bellatrix, well, Bellatrix was a big girl. She could scream at her own mother. It wouldn't do for her husband to constantly be tearing her away from her hysterical mother. Not if Bellatrix decided she wanted Druella to play any role as their child's grandmother.

So Voldemort took off his own cloak and dropped it onto the floor for Plinky to hang up. He went into his office and read over the day's newspaper as he sipped on some warm pear cider. After a while, deciding that the news was very dull, he set the paper down and turned to stare out at the thorny, bare rose bushes.

Starling.

It was a strange name for a child, perhaps, but an inspired one. A bird, free to fly, to shimmer in the sunlight. Dark and free and flying. Starling.

He sighed, glancing at the clock and realising that, by Plinky's timeline, Bellatrix had been at the Black family home for about four hours now. That seemed like an awfully long while. He decided he'd go there, encourage her to come home for dinner, and calmly discuss a few financial matters with Cygnus. He went out into the foyer and called for his cloak, which was quickly brought to him, and when he Disapparated to London, the sun was starting to go down.

He walked up to the Black family house, knocking firmly on the door, but there was no answer. He frowned, knocking again, and when he got no response, he started to feel profoundly uneasy.

"Should I answer, Masters?" he heard a voice say softly, and he recognised it as the House-Elf. Then he leaned his head toward the door and heard Druella say in a quiet, shrill tone,

"No, Mappy! Don't let  _him_  in!"

"What the blazes?" Voldemort whipped his wand out and aimed it at the doorknob. " _Alohomora._ "

He pushed the door open and stalked inside to see Druella and Cygnus standing in the foyer, clutching hands, looking utterly terrified. Voldemort shut the door and asked plainly,

"Where is Bellatrix?"

Druella shook her head and shrugged. She scoffed a little and insisted in the most obviously dishonest tone Voldemort had ever heard,

"We haven't seen her, My Lord."

Cygnus' face was scarlet, and Voldemort felt a flare of fear and rage inside of him.

" _Legilimens,_ " he snarled, crashing into Cygnus' mind.

' _She's coming over. Dumbledore's in London today; we can get the message to him in time,' Druella said, passing the letter to Cygnus. She wasn't crying; her face was stoic. She shook her head. 'Cygnus. We have to send this to Dumbledore. This has all gone too far. You're in too deep with that man. You'll wind up in Azkaban yourself if they find out all the financial dealings you've been up to. I want a better life for Narcissa, a happy future with Lucius for her. Bellatrix is Undesirable Number One. You know what we must do. Send it to him. Now.'_

' _Druella.' Cygnus shook his head, his stomach feeling sick. 'She's our daughter. And I respect him; I think he's got the right ideas.'_

' _He's going to get us all killed, or worse,' Druella hissed. 'Send the letter to Dumbledore. Do it now.'_

_Cygnus let out a very shaky breath and rolled the letter back up, putting it inside another parchment upon which he scrawled Albus Dumbledore's name. He tied it all to the foot of the owl Bellatrix had sent over, and he instructed the bird in a mournful voice,_

' _Hurry. Get this to Albus Dumbledore. Go.'_

_An hour later, Albus Dumbledore stood inside the foyer of the Black family home._

' _You did the right thing, Cygnus. Druella. There will be amnesty for you both. It's all been arranged.'_

_A half hour after that, Dumbledore Disapparated from the sidewalk, taking Bellatrix with him._

Voldemort pulled out of Cygnus' head, shaking where he stood. Druella began to shake with sobs, and Voldemort sneered at her,

"Go on and cry now, Druella. She's pregnant, you know! She's pregnant."

"What?" Druella raised her eyes to Voldemort, who laughed bitterly and nodded.

"Yes. She's pregnant, and you've just betrayed her. You've betrayed her. For the last time.  _Avada Kedavra!_ "

Druella slumped at the other end of the vibrant green light, and Cygnus yelled in horror. He crouched down to examine Druella's still, quiet body, and when he looked up to Voldemort with pleading eyes, Voldemort said stiffly,

"You are no better than she was. You never were.  _Avada Kedavra._ "

There was another blast of green light, and Cygnus joined his wife in death on the ground. Voldemort eyed Mappy, the House-Elf who was whimpering in terror, and he quickly eliminated the creature. Then he looked around the house, his heart thumping with mad panic as he realised Dumbledore had Bellatrix, probably in the bowels of the Ministry.

" _Incendio,"_ Voldemort incanted, sending fire onto the wooden staircase. His breath raced alongside his heart. He needed to burn down this house. He needed to burn Druella and Cygnus' bodies; he needed to burn Bellatrix's childhood in all its wretched awfulness. " _Incendio… Incendio. Incendio!_ "

Once the fires began to catch, the wallpaper began to curl, and Druella and Cygnus' bodies began to burn, Voldemort made his way out the front door, leaving it wide open. Let the Muggle fire brigade come to try and keep the whole row of houses from burning down. He didn't care. He had a Ministry to immediately infiltrate. He had a wife and child to rescue.

He peeled back the left sleeve of his robe as he walked away, pressing his wand to his Dark Mark and Summoning every last one of his Death Eaters to Malfoy Manor.

* * *

"Well. Bellatrix Black. We meet again."

Bellatrix stared across the white quartz table in the large, black tiled interrogation room. On the opposite side of the enormous table were the three people who had decided she should go to Azkaban - Albus Dumbledore, Barty Crouch, and Emmeline Hawkworth. Barty Crouch held up Bellatrix's wand and demanded,

"Where did you get this?"

"I found it. My husband and I were out walking, and I picked it up off the ground," Bellatrix answered coolly.

"Your husband," Crouch nodded. "You mean Tom Riddle. But we have no record of you being married."

"No. But we do have a record. The ceremony was performed in private. With a dagger, a chalice, a ribbon, and promises.  _Nogo et Ligo._ Dont worry, Mr Crouch. Lord Voldemort and I are perfectly married. The child in my womb is legitimate."

"Then you are indeed pregnant," Crouch said tightly, and Bellatrix nodded, touching her lower abdomen.

"I am."

Emmeline Hawkworth said softly to an assistant behind her,

"Please be certain that her food and housing reflects that. Must be careful."

"Yes, ma'am," the assistant witch said, jotting something down on her parchment. Emmeline Hawkworth sniffed lightly and said to Bellatrix,

"Your wand was inspected, and we found… well, all sorts of things. A great many Unforgivables, enough to send you to Azkaban for life many times over. Would you like to explain all those Unforgivables?"

"Not really, no." Bellatrix drummed her fingers on the white table, and Hawkworth raised her eyebrows. Albus Dumbledore folded his hands and asked calmly,

"Do you think that the bullying you experienced at Hogwarts is something we, as staff, should have addressed more elegantly, Bellatrix?"

She scoffed. "Bit late for that."

"It is. But you felt very bullied, I think. It saddens me, as Headmaster, to think of any student feeling that way at my school," Dumbledore said, and Bellatrix narrowed her eyes at him. She folded her arms over her chest and shrugged.

"Didn't seem to sadden you, or Slughorn, or McGonagall all that much when I was a student. You were the one who made sure  _I_  got punished for slicing Jamie McLaggen's cheek, whilst he wasn't punished at all for burning my face with Kezia bug acid."

"That was a mistake," Dumbledore nodded. "You were treated badly in that case."

"And nobody seemed too broken up about me being booed and hissed and laughed at during the talent show, or mocked in the corridors, or handed a fake certificate for being  _Most Likely to Be Administered the Dementor's Kiss_. Nobody seemed very sad when I dozed off in the library and woke up to find all my textbooks had been stolen. They were found in the Gryffindor girls' dormitory, but only after my parents had paid for replacements. No one seemed too regretful when Jamie McLaggen paid Hamish Robertson to pretend to ask me to a dance. No one seemed broken up about the Gryffindor boys always yanking up my skirt in passing, or the chants and rhymes they made up. You did nothing to stop any of it. None of you did anything."

"We did not do enough, to be certain," Dumbledore agreed. Emmeline Hawkworth looked very surprised, even mildly sympathetic, and Barty Crouch seemed almost shocked. But Dumbledore demanded,

"Do you think, though, that being bullied gave you the right to kidnap and torture Jamie McLaggen? Do you think you had the right to Imperius Josephine Glass into suicide? Do you think you were entitled to murder Harriet Narcks?"

There was a very heavy silence in the interrogation room, and finally Bellatrix shrugged.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"No?" Dumbledore smiled sadly.

"No," Bellatrix said, shaking her head. "The last I heard of those three, Jamie had Splinched badly trying to get to the Hogwarts Express. Josephine committed suicide over the holidays at her parents' house. And Harriet… she just sort of disappeared, didn't she?"

"How do you mean to explain all the Unforgivables discovered on this wand?" snapped Barty Crouch, and Bellatrix gave him a blank look.

"The wand Dumbledore Disarmed from me in London?" she asked, and she repeated, "I found that wand. You took mine."

Emmeline Hawkworth narrowed her eyes and demanded, "You really expect us to believe that this wand, which is almost identical to your old one, is one you just…  _found?_  Lying on the ground, like discarded rubbish?"

"I don't care what you believe," Bellatrix said in a clip.

"So you claim you haven't cast any Unforgivables?" Emmeline asked shrilly, and Bellatrix said smoothly,

"I had absolutely nothing to do with the deaths of Jamie, Josephine, or Harriet."

"Ollivander says he hasn't given either of them anything," Crouch muttered, "and Gregorovitch insists he doesn't even know who Bellatrix Black is."

Bellatrix felt a swell of happiness at Gregorovitch's loyalty. She smirked a little, feeling Dumbledore's gaze heavy upon her. She could feel the press of his Legilimency in her mind, but she just showed him an empty corridor, at the end of which was the chasm of a velvet night sky.

"Sorry to interrupt, but… erm… there's been an… an invasion!"

Bellatrix whirled around in her chair to see a young wizard with his wand out, looking pale-faced and terrified. He was panting, like he'd come running down to the interrogation room, and he said desperately,

"There must be twenty, twenty-five of them. Please come! Please come quickly! They're fighting a damned battle in the Atrium!"

**Author's Note: Oh, my! Sorry for the cliffhanger, but I want to do this Ministry battle justice. Bear in mind that Bellatrix is more or less without a wand here, and she is sort of at the mercy of everyone else in that room, so battle dancing may prove difficult right this minute (maybe good, given that she's pregnant?) The battle will be told from Voldemort's POV, so we'll definitely feel his protective, possessive desperation to find and rescue Bellatrix (and Starling!). As always, feedback is very much appreciated. Thanks so much for reading.**


	65. Fiendfyre

" _STUPEFY!"_

Voldemort looked to his left to see Augustus Rookwood shoot back, slamming into the dark tiled wall at the force of a blonde witch's spell. He growled in frustration and aimed his wand at Kingsley Shacklebolt. He was about to incant a Killing Curse when he heard the distinctive growl of Alastor Moody from beside him.

" _Petrificus To-_ "

" _Crucio!"_  Voldemort whipped his wand at Moody, sending him crumpling to the ground in a bout of red-webbed torture. That would disable the haggard Scottish son of a bitch, Voldemort thought. He snapped his wand up after a few seconds and, for good measure, added the spell Moody had been about to cast. " _Petrificus Totalus._ "

Then he stalked through the Atrium, past the duels that were happening all around him, and he shouted,

"Albus Dumbledore!  _Incendio!_ "

He set fire to the Stupefied form of an Auror lying on the ground beside him, which scrambled some more Aurors into action to frantically put out the fire and heal the burns of their fallen comrade. Whilst they worked, Voldemort aimed his wand at the Aurors and said quickly,

" _Expelliarmus! Expelliarmus! Avada Kedavra!_ "

The two Disarmed Aurors looked up in shock, then one screamed as Voldemort killed the half-burned, Stunned one lying on the ground. All around him, spells blazed in blinding white and blue and orange. Voldemort narrowed his eyes and decided this was accomplishing nothing. He knew where Dumbledore was; he was with Bellatrix, waiting to lure Voldemort into a trap.

Voldemort pressed his wand to his Dark Mark, sending a burn through the Marks of his Death Eaters. He touched his wand to his throat and murmured an Amplifying Charm. His voice echoed loudly through the Atrium as he said,

"Friends. Leave this to me. Go."

He waited as his Death Eaters dashed back toward the fireplaces, pursued by Aurors who were hit by Stunning Spells or worse. Rookwood was still Stunned, but Voldemort saw Abraxas Malfoy take hold of him and Levitate him. Once the Death Eaters had gone, Voldemort looked around at all the wands aimed at him, and he shut his eyes and whispered,

" _Bombarda Maxima._ "

Suddenly there was an enormous explosion, and Voldemort put up a nonverbal Shield Charm around himself. He opened his eyes to see that the great golden fountain in the centre of the Atrium was toppling, and he let down his shield to shout the incantation for Fiendfyre. There were screams then, and calls for help, cries of spells to try and extinguish the flames that burst forth from Voldemort's wand.

The continuous stream of Fiendfyre moved almost like a jet of water, streaming from the tip of Voldemort's wand and catapulting throughout the tiled Atrium. He flicked his wand a bit, and the fire took the shape of a very angry-looking snake that hissed as it burned, crackling and smoking. It curled and wended through the Atrium, seeking out all the Ministry employees who had come out to fight. One by one, they were devoured by the flames. Voldemort watched his Fiendfyre consume them, watched their bodies and robes catch fire even as they ran, as they made a mad dash for the lifts and the fireplaces. The snake of Fiendfyre caught them all.

He let his Fiendfyre burn the tiles on the wall and the golden ornamentation in which the Ministry had taken such pride. He relished the sight of things melting and flaking, the smell of flesh and hair burning, the sound of stone crumbling. He let it all burn for a few moments, and then he slowly lowered his wand and felt his magic dissolve. Controlling Fiendfyre was immensely difficult, but he was immensely strong. The snake gave way, coiling up into the ceiling like smoke, and Voldemort eyed the two dozen burning bodies on the charred ground. He walked by them all, ignoring the moans of the dying, the sight of blackened wands and singed clothes. He walked calmly and quietly over to the lifts. He knew where Dumbledore was, where Bellatrix was. He knew where they were. He could feel her in this building.

" _Level Two,_ " said the pleasant witch's voice inside the lift once it stopped moving. " _Department of Magical Law Enforcement._ "

Lord Voldemort stepped off the lift and stalked down the corridor to his left. He could feel her here. He could feel her soul. They had her in an interrogation room, he could tell.

He stopped when he saw two young wizards standing outside a door marked  _Interrogation Room One_. Voldemort smirked and shook his head.

"Meat in Dumbledore's grinder," he told them. "You must have been Gryffindors."

"Tom Riddle," said one of them bravely, "You are under arrest for -"

" _Avada Kedavra,_ " Voldemort said casually. The other wizard gasped and picked up his wand, but before he could speak, Voldemort let out another jade blast of light and said simply, " _Avada Kedavra._ "

Suddenly he was standing in front of two more corpses, and they were blocking his way to the doorway. He approached the door and used his boot to kick the corpses aside. They were heavier than he would have anticipated. It was more difficult to kick them than he might have guessed.

When he opened the heavy black door to the interrogation room, holding his wand out, he walked in to find Bellatrix standing in front of a very tall and broad witch with an angry expression on her face. Bellatrix's wrists were behind her back, Voldemort could see. They'd been bound, probably. They'd dressed her in an odd, cream-coloured smock-like dress and tied her hair back with a pale kerchief. She stared right at him, her eyes like flint. The witch behind her had a wand aimed straight at Bellatrix's temple, and then Voldemort noticed that Bellatrix's ankles were bound up, too.

Albus Dumbledore sat very calmly at a white quartz table in the centre of the room. There were two wands before him - the one Voldemort had had Gregorovitch make for Bellatrix, and the thin, knobbly wand that Dumbledore had acquired sometime in the 1940s. They sat parallel to one another in front of Dumbledore's folded hands. Dumbledore used wandless magic to push out the metal chair opposite him, and he said simply,

"Have a seat, Tom."

"I'll stand, thanks," Voldemort growled. Dumbledore used his hand to pull the chair back in, and he nodded.

"Suit yourself. I take it from the terrible smell of fire that things did not go very well in the Atrium."

"Why have you kidnapped my wife and unborn child?" Voldemort demanded, and Dumbledore blinked once.

"You have used her," he observed. "You wanted to make her a soldier for your perverted cause, and so when she was convicted of using the Cruciatus Curse, you saw an opportunity. Then, as a man in your forties, you saw a very attractive underaged witch."

"Be silent," Voldemort hissed, but Dumbledore continued,

"You used her body, and you used her Darkness, and you have corrupted every bit of her that you could possibly touch. But the reality, Tom, is that - pregnant or not - she is a murderer. Bullied or not, she is a murderer. You will have to face your crimes, too. Right now, it is time for Bellatrix to face hers."

"Let me take my wife and child home," Voldemort said. "Keep the wand."

"No more deals, Tom." Dumbledore shook his head. "No more bargains. There are consequences for certain actions. We all bear responsibility for the choices we make, and Bellatrix has made some very wrong choices. Leave now, and let justice be done."

"Justice," Voldemort spat, shaking his head and coughing out a bitter laugh. "What do you know of justice, you old lunatic? Today you die. You die at my hand on this day."

"If you murder me, Tom," Dumbledore said very calmly, "The Auror standing behind your wife has official permission to administer the death penalty for Bellatrix's countless Unforgivable crimes."

Voldemort's wand shook in his hand. He stared at Dumbledore's pale eyes, at the cool and collected way his worst enemy was staring back at him. He was taunting Voldemort, daring him to lose his temper. Dumbledore ignored the wands before him. He wasn't looking to duel. Was he willing to die? No. He didn't believe Voldemort would do it. He thought Voldemort was too far gone for Bellatrix, that he would surrender. He was that cocky, that…  _Gryffindor_.

"Master," Bellatrix whispered, and when Voldemort met her gaze, she looked so sturdy and stable that he felt his own eyes water terribly. He shook his head, but she nodded once and insisted very firmly, "Do it."

"Bella," he said, his voice cracking a little. The witch behind her wrenched at Bellatrix and jabbed her wand against her neck, and Dumbledore shifted a little in his chair, his perfect veneer crackling just a little. Voldemort narrowed his eyes, and Bellatrix said one more time,

"Do it, Master."

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

Voldemort made himself incant the curse before he could think too much about it. The green light exploded from his wand and shot toward Albus Dumbledore, whose pale eyes went round with shock in the split second before the curse hit him. No, Voldemort realised. He had not thought that Voldemort would do it. Voldemort turned his wand toward Bellatrix, trying desperately to aim at the witch behind her and avoid his wife, but the Auror angrily cried,

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

Suddenly Voldemort was numb. His ears were ringing. He murdered the Auror. He knew he did that; he was aware of the blast of green light and the way the witch slammed back against the black wall. But then there was silence. There were three corpses in the room. No. Four. Four dead people.

As Voldemort approached Bellatrix, who lay in silence staring at the ceiling, he heard a little twittering, chattering sound behind him. He turned over his shoulder and saw a bird, a black bird with iridescent purplish-blue against its black wings. It stared at him for a moment from where it had perched on the back of the chair at the white quartz table.

And then the starling flew away, out through the doorway, and it was gone.

"Bellatrix?" Voldemort hurried over to her. He crouched down beside her and cradled her head in his hands. He was crying, he thought. He could feel tears streaming down his cheeks. She should not die; she had a Horcrux. And wasn't the whole idea that the Horcrux would keep her soul tethered to this world?

She blinked.

She took a breath.

And then a little colour came back into her white cheeks, and she said in a sorrowful little voice,

"I think my starling has flown away."

"We have to go," Voldemort said, lifting her up into his arms and deciding that she weighed nothing at all right now. He snatched her wand off the white quartz table and hurried out of the interrogation room. He dashed with her in his arms down the corridor, feeling profoundly thankful that she had a slice of her soul in an earring beneath a floor tile in Morocco. He ran with her to the lifts, and when they got to the Atrium, it was oddly quiet.

A few things were still on fire - stacks of  _The Daily Prophet_ , someone's robes - and the smell was terrible. The broken fountain was spraying water up erratically. Knowing that he could Disapparate from the Atrium, Voldemort looked down into Bellatrix's face, studied it for a moment, and he told her,

"I love you."

He decided he'd tell her some other time that he'd had to execute her parents. There was much to debrief. That could come later.

**Author's Note: WHEW! Okay! A few things! a) Voldemort lost his body in 1981, which is unusual. Horcruxes are *supposed* to work by maintaining your soul's tie to this world, such that if you took a normal Killing Curse, you'd actually just sort of… stay alive. That is my understanding after doing a lot of research. It seems that Voldemort's experience in 1981 is not how Horcruxes were designed to work. You also don't use a Horcrux to get a body back (note the magic he used in GoF for this purpose), but rather *have* a Horcrux to maintain your soul's tie to the world. Hope that makes sense. Still, how will it affect Bellatrix to have experienced death? Will she have seen anything during that moment of being dead? And is her Starling really gone for good, or did any of Mama's Horcrux goodness pass on to the next generation?**

**Also, Druella, Cygnus, and Dumbledore are dead, and the Ministry HQ is essentially destroyed. This is definitely not canon. So how does all of this affect the trajectory of Voldemort's power moves? We'll have to see!**

**Thank you SO SO SO much to those who have stayed with me so far through this story and a HUGE thank you to those who have reviewed!**


	66. Alive

Death, as it turned out, was blankness.

There had been an incanted Killing Curse and a feeling of warmth surrounding her, a flash of green. Then… nothing. Absolute emptiness. A great black void, deeper than the deepest ocean, blacker than the blackest night. The most complete, all-encompassing emptiness that Bellatrix had ever experienced. She'd felt her heart stop. She'd been aware of her thoughts slowing. Then… nothing.

And that nothing went on for some length of time she could not measure, until she heard the chattering little twitter of a bird, the beating of wings flying away. Starling. Then Bellatrix had blinked open her eyes and filled her lungs, and Voldemort was holding her head, tears streaming down his smoke-stained cheeks.

"We have to go," he'd said, and he'd scooped her up into his arms.

Now she was in their green toile bed at Adderbury House. It was night now. It was raining hard outside; the cold rain was lashing at the glass like the tears of those mourning the dozens killed earlier. There was a cart beside the bed. Plinky had been desperate, along with Pokey, to give Bellatrix absolutely anything she'd wanted. She'd only asked for mint tea, the kind they served in Morocco. She didn't want rose tea anymore; her mother had liked rose tea, and so now Bellatrix hated it. But the smell of the mint was calming her right now, as she cradled the warm teacup in her hands.

Voldemort had Vanished her bindings when they'd come home. He'd Scoured her clean and dressed her in a crisp, fresh white nightgown and put her in bed, and then he'd regretfully told her that he needed to go to Malfoy Manor and meet with the others to debrief. He was there now. He'd promised to come back quickly. Bellatrix had reassured him that she'd be perfectly fine, and somehow she was.

Albus Dumbledore was dead. Bellatrix had died, too. Was her Starling dead? Bellatrix wasn't so sure. She'd felt her fly away, if just for a moment, but Bellatrix was not bleeding. And the Killing Curse had only taken  _Bellatrix_  out, not the child within her, whose life was a separate entity. Thanks to her Horcrux, Bellatrix's soul had quickly rebounded, staying tethered to this existence, filling her body back up with life.

"Are you in there?" Bellatrix pressed her palm to her lower abdomen and shut her eyes, desperately trying to feel the first scrap of her child's existence. She set her teacup down on the cart beside her, and she whispered words she'd never thought she would say. "I'm here. I've got you. You are safe with me, and I will never, never let you go, Starling, all right? So just stay with me."

"Bella?"

She looked up, swiping at the eyes that had sprung tears anew. She saw Voldemort in the doorway, still looking sooty and sweaty. His black robes were torn a little, and he seemed profoundly tired. He'd done a lot of killing, Bellatrix pondered. He walked slowly into the bedroom, pulling off his outer robe and tossing it into a heap on the floor. He kicked off his boots and yanked open the first few buttons of the linen shirt he wore. He pulled a decorative toile chair up alongside the bed, moving the tea cart a little.

"Would you like some tea?" Bellatrix asked him softly. "Mint. Like in Morocco."

"Oh. Actually, that… yes, that sounds nice." Voldemort cleared his throat a bit and pulled out a tea bag from the wooden box, putting it into one of the white china cups. Bellatrix reached and poured some hot water for him, dropping in a cube of sugar. Voldemort let out a very long sigh, took his glasses off and studied them for a moment, and then he finally said,

"I broke my glasses. I… didn't notice until just now. Hm.  _Oculus Reparo._ "

He aimed his wand at the splintered side of the frame and the slightly shattered lens, and the glasses fixed themselves up. He pulled them back on, took the mint tea bag out of the cup and took a sip of tea, and then he asked Bellatrix,

"How bad is the bleeding? Do you need help?"

"Bleeding?" she whispered, and when he stared at her, he seemed confused. She shook her head and insisted, "I'm not bleeding, Master."

"Oh." He gulped, his throat bobbing, and suddenly he seemed more emotional than she could ever recall seeing him. His dark eyes welled heavily behind his glasses, which he quickly pulled off and tossed onto the side table. He dug his fists into his eyes and shook a little, and he asked in a little murmur, "Is there… do you suspect there is any chance that you may still be pregnant?"

"Well. I had to get up to use the bathroom an hour ago," Bellatrix said. "I used the testing potion. It may be ready, if you want to check."

He lowered his hands from his eyes and stared at her for a moment in awe. He shook his head and whispered, "You died."

" _I_  died," she reminded him, "but the baby's someone else."

Voldemort rose and walked, looking shaky, toward Bellatrix's bathroom. He was in there for so long that Bellatrix was worried he was ill. After a very long time, he came back out, smiling just a little with tears streaking down his cheeks, and when he sat in the chair beside the bed again, he informed her,

"The child is still alive."

Bellatrix grinned, unable to help herself. Then she picked at the blanket and said what had been bothering her ever since she'd been taken into Ministry custody.

"My parents betrayed me. They must have sent my letter to Dumbledore."

"Your parents are dead," Voldemort snapped. Bellatrix's mouth fell open, and for a long moment, she just met Voldemort's eyes and tried to breathe. He shrugged and said, "I would apologise, except that I'm not sorry. You weren't here, so I went there looking for you. I searched your father's mind and saw it all. Dumbledore offered them amnesty. Your mother was desperate to turn you in, to get your father out of business dealings with me. The betrayal was full and complete. I killed them both and set fire to their house."

Bellatrix leaned back against the pillows. Suddenly she felt a profound nausea sweep over her, and she muttered,

"Bucket. Now."

" _Haustrum!_ " Voldemort quickly Conjured a wooden pail, into which Bellatrix vomited rather violently. He held the bucket for her with one hand and pulled her curls back with the other as she retched and spluttered. Finally, she heard him Vanish the vomit from the bucket, and then he called out to Summon the Nonemesis Potion she'd been taking daily for her rather severe pregnancy sickness. She gladly took the large dose he gave her, and when the drowsiness from the potion began to sink in, she lay back down against the pillows.

"Cissy will be devastated," Bellatrix mused, for that seemed important right now. "She'll blame me. Us."

"No. She will not. She and Lucius are loyal. Your parents were traitors, just as bad as Andromeda," Voldemort said sharply. Bellatrix nodded. There would be no funerals, she knew. She blinked a few times and asked,

"Casualties?"

"Rookwood's got a broken arm, but Abraxas put it into a cast. Mulciber took a nasty curse that sliced open his abdomen; he's healing up at Malfoy Manor. No deaths on our end. Dozens of Aurors and Ministry workers that stayed after the evacuation were killed by my Fiendfyre. Then there were those guards upstairs, and the Auror that was holding you. And Dumbledore, obviously."

"Barty Crouch and Emmeline Hawkworth," Bellatrix said in a dry whisper. She turned her face to him. "Did you kill them?"

Voldemort frowned. "I never saw them."

She huffed. "Dumbledore sent them out after Hawkworth and that big burly witch changed my clothes. Crouch said he was going to oversee the evacuation. Coward."

"This will shake the Ministry to its core. Now is the time to strike," Voldemort said firmly. "I want to put Avery in as Minister. He's clever and loyal enough to do as I command, but he wasn't connected to your case, and he didn't actually make it to the battle in time; he was doing business with goblins in the Scottish Lowlands. I want to organise a coup to oust Eugenia Jenkins. People will want a quick solution to this mess, and plugging in Frederick Avery as Minister for Magic will give people a solid, Sacred Twenty-Eight figurehead who isn't Jenkins."

"And he'll be your puppet?" Bellatrix asked, smiling weakly. Voldemort nodded.

"And he'll be my puppet. He'll put Yaxley in as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He'll shake up the Wizengamot. Abraxas is on the Hogwarts Board of Governors; he and the others are going to see to it that Horace Slughorn is quickly put in as the new Headmaster. He's popular, but easily manipulated. People are like clay, Bellatrix. Even when word gets out that this was a battle between Lord Voldemort and the Ministry… soon enough, opinion will turn. We'll kill the editor of the  _Prophet_ and take over its production. We'll conquer the Ministry from the inside. And people will forget who ruined the fountain in the Atrium, because the new fountain will be even better. People are stupid like that."

Bellatrix sighed and nodded, feeling rather sleepy. Her nausea was wearing off; the Nonemesis Potion was doing its job well. She shut her eyes and informed Voldemort,

"It's just a bunch of nothing, you know. Real dying. It's just being surrounded by empty black nothing."

"I saw a starling fly out of the room," Voldemort muttered. "I wasn't hallucinating. I know what I saw."

"She's alive," Bellatrix whispered, and she felt Voldemort reach for her hand.

"So are you," he noted, "thanks to a very important earring. I want to thank you. You did not want to make a Horcrux. You rejected the idea initially; you fought me on it. But then you agreed, and so I wish to thank you."

"Well. It turns out you were right about it," Bellatrix smiled, keeping her eyes shut. The darkness behind her eyelids was nothing compared to what had surrounded her in that moment of death. She listened to the rain lashing at the window, and she asked him softly,

"When she is born, will I be allowed to hold her and sing to her until she falls asleep? I think that would be nice. To sing her a little song whilst she drifts to sleep."

"Oh." Voldemort squeezed at Bellatrix's hand and promised her, "You can pick her up and never put her down, if that makes you happy. Whatever makes you happy."

"Were you frightened, Master?" Bellatrix asked, and she felt his fingers twitch around hers. His breath hitched a little, and then he whispered,

"I was terrified."

She said nothing to that. She listened to the rain, to the clink of him reaching for a cup of mint tea and sipping at it, then setting it back down - the sounds of being alive.

**Author's Note: *Deep breath* Okay. A quiet debriefing after the chaos of the previous few chapters. So she and the baby are alive and okay. And Voldemort's going to try and use this as a springboard to get more power than ever. Will it work? As always, thank you so much for reading and reviewing.**


	67. Starved

"Cheers, My Lord." Abraxas rasied his tumbler of firewhisky, and Voldemort raised his own as he said quietly,

"Cheers." He sipped at the burning liquid, and as Abraxas sat opposite him in the elegant library, Voldemort cracked his neck and said, "I'm rather glad Bellatrix insisted I take today to get smashingly drunk. She said I needed  _a break._  Insisted I've been working too hard."

"Well, you have been working hard, Master," Abraxas smiled. "We've got Selwyn running the  _Prophet,_  so the press is on your side. Jenkins is out and Avery's in. Yaxley's starting next week as head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Crouch and Hawkworth have been silenced. All the news coverage of Dumbledore has villainised him. It's come to light that Madam Black was probably pushed into casting the original Cruciatus Curse after years of relentless bullying, which Slughorn has acknowledged as a systematic problem at Hogwarts and pledged to address. There's been a lot accomplished in the last six weeks, My Lord. I think you've earned yourself some firewhisky."

Voldemort smiled a little and took a much larger sip. It burned like mad going down. Abraxas was right, of course; he'd been spending days and nights working hard with his Death Eaters to see his plans come to fruition. He'd been putting out flyers and pamphlets asserting that Dumbledore had been a self-serving lunatic who had run a school full of narcissistic bullies. He'd published the transcripts of Bellatrix's trial, along with testimonials from fellow Slytherins who backed claims that Bellatrix was pushed and pushed until one day she snapped. Even Josephine Glass' own suicide was probably symptomatic of Hogwarts' failure under Dumbledore, the pamphlets and newspaper had said. So Horace Slughorn had promised anxious parents that the school would take new steps to ensure that students were treated differently. Things would be very different at Hogwarts going forward.

Emmeline Hawkworth and Bartemius Crouch had been slammed in the press for their treatment of Bellatrix, who was now being held up as an example of a Little Girl Lost, the victim of betrayals and bullying to the point of snapping. By throwing a seventeen-year-old girl into Azkaban, Crouch and Hawkworth looked like villains, and so they'd been shoved from the Wizengamot. Yaxley was replacing Crouch in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, with massive public support. Hawkworth was going into early retirement.

The battle in the Ministry was being painted as a husband and father desperate to rescue his kidnapped wife and unborn child. Since Dumbledore, Crouch, and Hawkworth were being painted so terribly, and since Eugenia Jenkins was being depicted as an utterly inept Minister for Magic, the Auror casualties were being viewed by the public as a malicious army struck down. Several members of the public had had their memories altered by Death Eaters, surreptitiously or at family events, or had been Imperiused to convince others and change minds. There were, of course, a great many who viewed Lord Voldemort with immense disdain and remained loyal to Dumbledore, but that number shrank every day.

"How is she doing?" Abraxas asked quietly, and Voldemort gulped down his firewhisky, holding out his glass as Abraxas poured more. "How is Madam Black doing?"

"She's confined to bed most of the time, which irritates her," Voldemort said. "She'd much rather be dancing. But she's sicker than most witches get. If she misses a dose of her Nonemesis Potion, she vomits for hours on end. She can barely keep food and tea down as it is; all she can eat are raw vegetables and toast. So she's lost a fair bit of weight. But I spoke with Jasper Bulstrode, since he's so good with Healing magic. He said some witches get much sicker than others, but that it can mean the pregnancy is very strong."

_Besides,_ he thought to himself,  _she died. She bloody well died, and she came back to life, and the child lives on within her. Of course she's going to be very, very sick._

"Jasper Bulstrode says to keep giving her the Nonemesis Potion and let her rest, and she'll be perfectly fine." Voldemort smiled a little. "She lounges in the library with books; she sits up in bed. She walks out in the grass sometimes. Bulstrode says as long as she's hydrated, she'll be fine."

He blinked a few times and sipped his firewhisky again, and he tried not to notice the way Abraxas seemed a little worried. He smiled a bit to himself and set his drink down, and he said,

"This morning, she put my hand on her belly. I could finally feel it. Just a little gentle swell. Just a tiny bit. Hard, firm. That was odd, to feel her belly hard like that. And just the tiniest little swell. But it was there."

Abraxas grinned now and knocked back his own drink, and he looked like there was something he was itching to say. He dragged his thumb over the rim of his glass, and Voldemort asked him,

"What's the matter?"

"Aeta wants a divorce," Lucius blurted suddenly, his pale eyes rimming red. "A real divorce. Legal and everything."

Voldemort's mouth fell open, and he scoffed. "What? Why, because she liked to fuck Half-Blood girls?"

"She's got a Mudblood these days, apparently." Abraxas sounded nauseated. "Some sixty-year-old Mudblood woman called Dorothy Sawyer. An American. Lucius told me about the woman over Christmas, but he doesn't know she's a Mudblood. Aeta wrote to me; says she's madly in love with Dorothy."

"I thought she was madly in love with… what was her name? Evelina?" Voldemort felt very irritated with Aeta's flighty affections, and he shook his head. The liquor was hitting him hard now. "No. She can't divorce you. That'll look bad. She'll have to just stay in Wales, brooding and eating her Mudblood's -"

"Master." Abraxas had interrupted, but Voldemort didn't scold him. Instead, he actually apologized, mumbling a quick  _sorry_  as he sipped more firewhisky. He huffed and informed Abraxas,

"She is still your wife, and she is a Blood Traitor now. You'll have to write to her and inform her that, no, you're not getting a divorce, and that if she wants to stay out of trouble, she'll keep her affections for Dorothy quietly limited to Wales."

"I understand, Master." Abraxas blinked a few times and admitted, "I've been a bit loose myself, I confess. I was in the Smiling Mermaid twice last week."

"What, the whorehouse in Hogsmeade?" Voldemort scoffed. It was a filthy little set of rooms above a dingy curiosities shop, and any Hogwarts student caught inside was guaranteed expulsion. It was also illegal for the the brothel owners to let seventh-years in, but that didn't stop them or curious boys.

"You'll catch diseases in there, Abraxas," Voldemort warned him. "Bring girls back here; I'm not living here anymore."

"Yes, Master." Abraxas sounded rather disconsolate, and suddenly Voldemort felt very sorry for him. He'd been promised a wife as a boy, but that wife had turned out not to want him the way wives were meant to want husbands. Instead, Aeta, in all her spunk and fire, wanted some Mudblood witch, and Abraxas was left to console himself with whores. Voldemort sighed, realising he'd spoken entirely too much about Bellatrix's vomiting and hard little belly, and he decided to change the subject a little.

"Narcissa will need somewhere to stay when school lets out."

Abraxas turned his eyes to Voldemort and nodded. "You'd like your residence to stay secret for security reasons, I imagine."

"I'll have Bellatrix ensure that Narcissa's taken care of for contraception. Don't look at me like that, Abraxas; I know they're young, but they're mad for each other, and they're betrothed, and you know how teenagers are. Give her Bellatrix's old suite, will you? Seeing as how I executed her parents?"

Abraxas smirked. "We'll make her very comfortable here, Master."

"Thank you. I don't suppose either she or Lucius will mind the arrangement. You can write to them to inform them; it'll cheer everyone up," Voldemort said. He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair and shook his head a little, and he said in a slight drawl, "Aeta should know better. In many ways."

Abraxas opened his mouth, stared at the fireplace for a moment, then shut his mouth again. He shrugged, looked a little sad, and mused,

"She gave me Lucius. For that, I'll always love her, at least a little bit."

"Hmm." Voldemort stood slowly, feeling a bit wobbly, and as Abraxas joined him, he said, "Thanks for the firewhisky. I think I'll head home before I wind up too drunk to Apparate."

"Yes, Master. Please give Madam Black my best wishes," Abraxas nodded, and Voldemort curled up his lips.

"If you find any way for her to torture and kill people whilst she's sick and pregnant, you let me know. I'd love to give her a little gift."

Abraxas laughed softly but said, "The next time we take someone prisoner… one of Dumbledore's remaining loyalists… I shall write to you at once, Master. Perhaps you might like to take them to her as a present."

"She'd like that," Voldemort agreed, and he headed out of Abraxas' library.

* * *

' _Starling, don't run so fast. Mummy can't catch you if you run that fast!' Bellatrix dashed through the tall grass, chasing the little girl in the white eyelet dress. Her black ringlets bounced around her shoulders, and when she looked over her shoulder, giggling like mad, her dark eyes were big and shining._

' _Starling! Listen to your mother!' Voldemort called, and Starling finally stopped, panting, her round cheeks pink. She laughed as Bellatrix dashed up her her, scooping her up into her arms, cradling her close and smelling powder on her._

' _Mumma,' Starling purred, tangling her fingers into Bellatrix's hair. Bellatrix kissed Starling's warm pink cheek and told her,_

' _There's your favourite for dinner - noodles with cheesy sauce! Mmm! Cheese! Say it, Starling. Cheese. Say it! Cheese.'_

' _Teez!' Starling yelled, clapping her hands together. 'Teez, teez, teezy teez!'_

_Bellatrix laughed and turned round with Starling on her hip. As the sun started to go down on the horizon, Voldemort was silhouetted where he stood with his hands on his hips._

' _Let's go, ladies,' he called. 'I'm starved!'_

' _Did you hear that, Starling?' Bellatrix asked. 'Daddy's starved. We have to go eat now, or Daddy's going to starve. So let's go eat cheese. Say it! Cheese.'_

' _Teez!' Starling yelled again, and Bellatrix smiled broadly, her skirts swishing on the grass as she carried her daughter back up toward Adderbury House._

Bellatrix blinked her eyes open, and suddenly she was overwhelmed with pain. Awful, searing pain in her lower back that seemed to radiate outward, spreading up her back and down her thighs, around her hips.

"Master?" Her voice sounded weak even to her own ears, and she grasped at the sheets beneath her. She felt wet heat there, sticky wet heat, and she blinked quickly. "Master!"

He sat up beside her, and then he was turning on the sconces.

"Bella?" His voice was gravelly, heavy with sleep, and he rubbed a little at his eyes before pulling on his glasses. Bellatrix tried to sit, failed, and thrust the blankets away.

Then she screamed.

She screamed, and she shook, for she was surrounded by a massive puddle of vibrantly scarlet blood.

"Starling!" she shrieked, forcing herself up despite the intense cramping, the feeling of contractions and convulsions in her lower abdomen and back. She clutched at her blood-soaked nightgown, at the sheets, at the blankets. "No, no, no! Starling!  _Starling!_ "

Fourteen weeks. She'd been fourteen weeks into this pregnancy. Too far along for this to be happening. Blood. There was so much blood. It was everywhere; it was dripping off the soaked sheets and dribbling onto the floor. Bellatrix could feel huge clots of tissue squeezing out of her body. Was her Starling there? Was her body pushing out her Starling? She yanked up her nightgown and started rifling through the thick, squishy clots, searching for her child.

"Bellatrix." Voldemort sounded miserable as he gently forced her to set down the bloody mess. He started Vanishing the blood, Siphoning it up and Vanishing the clots and tissue, and she screamed again.

"No! Stop! You'll Vanish her! You'll Vanish my Starling!"

"She's gone, Bella," Voldemort said carefully, and Bellatrix slapped his face as hard as she could with her bloodied hand.

"Don't you  _dare_  say that. She's here! We can save her! We just have to find her!" Bellatrix thrust her fingers between her legs and started pulling at the bloody mess there, mumbling, "Starling, Starling, I'm here. Don't worry…"

" _Accio_  Dreamless Sleep," she heard Voldemort's voice say, and she muttered numbly,

"Don't need sleep. Don't need sleep. I need my Starling. I need… I need…"

She stopped then, staring at her blood-covered hands, which began to shake very badly, and then she dissolved into a mess of quivering sobs. A glass dropper made its way between her lips, and she tasted cloyingly sweet Draught of Dreamless Sleep.

She had died for a moment. She had felt her Starling fly away, and Voldemort had seen a bird fly out of the room. Somehow, some little strand of her child had held on in the last few months since the battle. But this had been inevitable, probably. Even with a Horcrux, how could a mother be killed and her child properly survive?

"Albus Dumbledore killed my Starling," Bellatrix murmured.

"Sleep. I love you." Voldemort was arranging her back against the pillows. He was kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. "I love you. I love you.  _Tergeo. Tergeo, Scourgify Maxima. Scourgify. Expulso Xenocorpus. Expulso Sanguine. Quercus._ "

Bellatrix shut her eyes, and to the sound of her master and husband cleaning up the carnage around her, she was lost to a great empty sleep, to the velvet soothing night sky.

**Author's Note:** _**Cringe** _ **. I really hated to do that! However, I promise it wasn't for nothing. Bellatrix will now be more filled with rage than ever, because she tasted motherhood - by being joyful about pregnancy and by having distinct dreams about Starling - and she quite literally had it ripped away. Now she will truly be able to become the Dark Lady. And to say that Voldemort's got a chip on his shoulder for anyone harboring loyalty to Dumbledore is a massive understatement. Let's get ready for some sweet revenge. Give us the prisoners, Abraxas!**

**Fair warning that this story has between around seven chapters left (more or less)! It has been incredibly fun to write, and this is one of those that I would make a half a million words if left to my own devices. But I'll be wrapping this one up within the next few days. To all those who are still reading/reviewing - THANK YOU! Love to all.**


	68. Starved

"Cheers, My Lord." Abraxas rasied his tumbler of firewhisky, and Voldemort raised his own as he said quietly,

"Cheers." He sipped at the burning liquid, and as Abraxas sat opposite him in the elegant library, Voldemort cracked his neck and said, "I'm rather glad Bellatrix insisted I take today to get smashingly drunk. She said I needed  _a break._  Insisted I've been working too hard."

"Well, you have been working hard, Master," Abraxas smiled. "We've got Selwyn running the  _Prophet,_  so the press is on your side. Jenkins is out and Avery's in. Yaxley's starting next week as head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Crouch and Hawkworth have been silenced. All the news coverage of Dumbledore has villainised him. It's come to light that Madam Black was probably pushed into casting the original Cruciatus Curse after years of relentless bullying, which Slughorn has acknowledged as a systematic problem at Hogwarts and pledged to address. There's been a lot accomplished in the last six weeks, My Lord. I think you've earned yourself some firewhisky."

Voldemort smiled a little and took a much larger sip. It burned like mad going down. Abraxas was right, of course; he'd been spending days and nights working hard with his Death Eaters to see his plans come to fruition. He'd been putting out flyers and pamphlets asserting that Dumbledore had been a self-serving lunatic who had run a school full of narcissistic bullies. He'd published the transcripts of Bellatrix's trial, along with testimonials from fellow Slytherins who backed claims that Bellatrix was pushed and pushed until one day she snapped. Even Josephine Glass' own suicide was probably symptomatic of Hogwarts' failure under Dumbledore, the pamphlets and newspaper had said. So Horace Slughorn had promised anxious parents that the school would take new steps to ensure that students were treated differently. Things would be very different at Hogwarts going forward.

Emmeline Hawkworth and Bartemius Crouch had been slammed in the press for their treatment of Bellatrix, who was now being held up as an example of a Little Girl Lost, the victim of betrayals and bullying to the point of snapping. By throwing a seventeen-year-old girl into Azkaban, Crouch and Hawkworth looked like villains, and so they'd been shoved from the Wizengamot. Yaxley was replacing Crouch in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, with massive public support. Hawkworth was going into early retirement.

The battle in the Ministry was being painted as a husband and father desperate to rescue his kidnapped wife and unborn child. Since Dumbledore, Crouch, and Hawkworth were being painted so terribly, and since Eugenia Jenkins was being depicted as an utterly inept Minister for Magic, the Auror casualties were being viewed by the public as a malicious army struck down. Several members of the public had had their memories altered by Death Eaters, surreptitiously or at family events, or had been Imperiused to convince others and change minds. There were, of course, a great many who viewed Lord Voldemort with immense disdain and remained loyal to Dumbledore, but that number shrank every day.

"How is she doing?" Abraxas asked quietly, and Voldemort gulped down his firewhisky, holding out his glass as Abraxas poured more. "How is Madam Black doing?"

"She's confined to bed most of the time, which irritates her," Voldemort said. "She'd much rather be dancing. But she's sicker than most witches get. If she misses a dose of her Nonemesis Potion, she vomits for hours on end. She can barely keep food and tea down as it is; all she can eat are raw vegetables and toast. So she's lost a fair bit of weight. But I spoke with Jasper Bulstrode, since he's so good with Healing magic. He said some witches get much sicker than others, but that it can mean the pregnancy is very strong."

_Besides,_ he thought to himself,  _she died. She bloody well died, and she came back to life, and the child lives on within her. Of course she's going to be very, very sick._

"Jasper Bulstrode says to keep giving her the Nonemesis Potion and let her rest, and she'll be perfectly fine." Voldemort smiled a little. "She lounges in the library with books; she sits up in bed. She walks out in the grass sometimes. Bulstrode says as long as she's hydrated, she'll be fine."

He blinked a few times and sipped his firewhisky again, and he tried not to notice the way Abraxas seemed a little worried. He smiled a bit to himself and set his drink down, and he said,

"This morning, she put my hand on her belly. I could finally feel it. Just a little gentle swell. Just a tiny bit. Hard, firm. That was odd, to feel her belly hard like that. And just the tiniest little swell. But it was there."

Abraxas grinned now and knocked back his own drink, and he looked like there was something he was itching to say. He dragged his thumb over the rim of his glass, and Voldemort asked him,

"What's the matter?"

"Aeta wants a divorce," Lucius blurted suddenly, his pale eyes rimming red. "A real divorce. Legal and everything."

Voldemort's mouth fell open, and he scoffed. "What? Why, because she liked to fuck Half-Blood girls?"

"She's got a Mudblood these days, apparently." Abraxas sounded nauseated. "Some sixty-year-old Mudblood woman called Dorothy Sawyer. An American. Lucius told me about the woman over Christmas, but he doesn't know she's a Mudblood. Aeta wrote to me; says she's madly in love with Dorothy."

"I thought she was madly in love with… what was her name? Evelina?" Voldemort felt very irritated with Aeta's flighty affections, and he shook his head. The liquor was hitting him hard now. "No. She can't divorce you. That'll look bad. She'll have to just stay in Wales, brooding and eating her Mudblood's -"

"Master." Abraxas had interrupted, but Voldemort didn't scold him. Instead, he actually apologized, mumbling a quick  _sorry_  as he sipped more firewhisky. He huffed and informed Abraxas,

"She is still your wife, and she is a Blood Traitor now. You'll have to write to her and inform her that, no, you're not getting a divorce, and that if she wants to stay out of trouble, she'll keep her affections for Dorothy quietly limited to Wales."

"I understand, Master." Abraxas blinked a few times and admitted, "I've been a bit loose myself, I confess. I was in the Smiling Mermaid twice last week."

"What, the whorehouse in Hogsmeade?" Voldemort scoffed. It was a filthy little set of rooms above a dingy curiosities shop, and any Hogwarts student caught inside was guaranteed expulsion. It was also illegal for the the brothel owners to let seventh-years in, but that didn't stop them or curious boys.

"You'll catch diseases in there, Abraxas," Voldemort warned him. "Bring girls back here; I'm not living here anymore."

"Yes, Master." Abraxas sounded rather disconsolate, and suddenly Voldemort felt very sorry for him. He'd been promised a wife as a boy, but that wife had turned out not to want him the way wives were meant to want husbands. Instead, Aeta, in all her spunk and fire, wanted some Mudblood witch, and Abraxas was left to console himself with whores. Voldemort sighed, realising he'd spoken entirely too much about Bellatrix's vomiting and hard little belly, and he decided to change the subject a little.

"Narcissa will need somewhere to stay when school lets out."

Abraxas turned his eyes to Voldemort and nodded. "You'd like your residence to stay secret for security reasons, I imagine."

"I'll have Bellatrix ensure that Narcissa's taken care of for contraception. Don't look at me like that, Abraxas; I know they're young, but they're mad for each other, and they're betrothed, and you know how teenagers are. Give her Bellatrix's old suite, will you? Seeing as how I executed her parents?"

Abraxas smirked. "We'll make her very comfortable here, Master."

"Thank you. I don't suppose either she or Lucius will mind the arrangement. You can write to them to inform them; it'll cheer everyone up," Voldemort said. He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair and shook his head a little, and he said in a slight drawl, "Aeta should know better. In many ways."

Abraxas opened his mouth, stared at the fireplace for a moment, then shut his mouth again. He shrugged, looked a little sad, and mused,

"She gave me Lucius. For that, I'll always love her, at least a little bit."

"Hmm." Voldemort stood slowly, feeling a bit wobbly, and as Abraxas joined him, he said, "Thanks for the firewhisky. I think I'll head home before I wind up too drunk to Apparate."

"Yes, Master. Please give Madam Black my best wishes," Abraxas nodded, and Voldemort curled up his lips.

"If you find any way for her to torture and kill people whilst she's sick and pregnant, you let me know. I'd love to give her a little gift."

Abraxas laughed softly but said, "The next time we take someone prisoner… one of Dumbledore's remaining loyalists… I shall write to you at once, Master. Perhaps you might like to take them to her as a present."

"She'd like that," Voldemort agreed, and he headed out of Abraxas' library.

* * *

' _Starling, don't run so fast. Mummy can't catch you if you run that fast!' Bellatrix dashed through the tall grass, chasing the little girl in the white eyelet dress. Her black ringlets bounced around her shoulders, and when she looked over her shoulder, giggling like mad, her dark eyes were big and shining._

' _Starling! Listen to your mother!' Voldemort called, and Starling finally stopped, panting, her round cheeks pink. She laughed as Bellatrix dashed up her her, scooping her up into her arms, cradling her close and smelling powder on her._

' _Mumma,' Starling purred, tangling her fingers into Bellatrix's hair. Bellatrix kissed Starling's warm pink cheek and told her,_

' _There's your favourite for dinner - noodles with cheesy sauce! Mmm! Cheese! Say it, Starling. Cheese. Say it! Cheese.'_

' _Teez!' Starling yelled, clapping her hands together. 'Teez, teez, teezy teez!'_

_Bellatrix laughed and turned round with Starling on her hip. As the sun started to go down on the horizon, Voldemort was silhouetted where he stood with his hands on his hips._

' _Let's go, ladies,' he called. 'I'm starved!'_

' _Did you hear that, Starling?' Bellatrix asked. 'Daddy's starved. We have to go eat now, or Daddy's going to starve. So let's go eat cheese. Say it! Cheese.'_

' _Teez!' Starling yelled again, and Bellatrix smiled broadly, her skirts swishing on the grass as she carried her daughter back up toward Adderbury House._

Bellatrix blinked her eyes open, and suddenly she was overwhelmed with pain. Awful, searing pain in her lower back that seemed to radiate outward, spreading up her back and down her thighs, around her hips.

"Master?" Her voice sounded weak even to her own ears, and she grasped at the sheets beneath her. She felt wet heat there, sticky wet heat, and she blinked quickly. "Master!"

He sat up beside her, and then he was turning on the sconces.

"Bella?" His voice was gravelly, heavy with sleep, and he rubbed a little at his eyes before pulling on his glasses. Bellatrix tried to sit, failed, and thrust the blankets away.

Then she screamed.

She screamed, and she shook, for she was surrounded by a massive puddle of vibrantly scarlet blood.

"Starling!" she shrieked, forcing herself up despite the intense cramping, the feeling of contractions and convulsions in her lower abdomen and back. She clutched at her blood-soaked nightgown, at the sheets, at the blankets. "No, no, no! Starling!  _Starling!_ "

Fourteen weeks. She'd been fourteen weeks into this pregnancy. Too far along for this to be happening. Blood. There was so much blood. It was everywhere; it was dripping off the soaked sheets and dribbling onto the floor. Bellatrix could feel huge clots of tissue squeezing out of her body. Was her Starling there? Was her body pushing out her Starling? She yanked up her nightgown and started rifling through the thick, squishy clots, searching for her child.

"Bellatrix." Voldemort sounded miserable as he gently forced her to set down the bloody mess. He started Vanishing the blood, Siphoning it up and Vanishing the clots and tissue, and she screamed again.

"No! Stop! You'll Vanish her! You'll Vanish my Starling!"

"She's gone, Bella," Voldemort said carefully, and Bellatrix slapped his face as hard as she could with her bloodied hand.

"Don't you  _dare_  say that. She's here! We can save her! We just have to find her!" Bellatrix thrust her fingers between her legs and started pulling at the bloody mess there, mumbling, "Starling, Starling, I'm here. Don't worry…"

" _Accio_  Dreamless Sleep," she heard Voldemort's voice say, and she muttered numbly,

"Don't need sleep. Don't need sleep. I need my Starling. I need… I need…"

She stopped then, staring at her blood-covered hands, which began to shake very badly, and then she dissolved into a mess of quivering sobs. A glass dropper made its way between her lips, and she tasted cloyingly sweet Draught of Dreamless Sleep.

She had died for a moment. She had felt her Starling fly away, and Voldemort had seen a bird fly out of the room. Somehow, some little strand of her child had held on in the last few months since the battle. But this had been inevitable, probably. Even with a Horcrux, how could a mother be killed and her child properly survive?

"Albus Dumbledore killed my Starling," Bellatrix murmured.

"Sleep. I love you." Voldemort was arranging her back against the pillows. He was kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. "I love you. I love you.  _Tergeo. Tergeo, Scourgify Maxima. Scourgify. Expulso Xenocorpus. Expulso Sanguine. Quercus._ "

Bellatrix shut her eyes, and to the sound of her master and husband cleaning up the carnage around her, she was lost to a great empty sleep, to the velvet soothing night sky.

**Author's Note:** _**Cringe** _ **. I really hated to do that! However, I promise it wasn't for nothing. Bellatrix will now be more filled with rage than ever, because she tasted motherhood - by being joyful about pregnancy and by having distinct dreams about Starling - and she quite literally had it ripped away. Now she will truly be able to become the Dark Lady. And to say that Voldemort's got a chip on his shoulder for anyone harboring loyalty to Dumbledore is a massive understatement. Let's get ready for some sweet revenge. Give us the prisoners, Abraxas!**

**Fair warning that this story has between around seven chapters left (more or less)! It has been incredibly fun to write, and this is one of those that I would make a half a million words if left to my own devices. But I'll be wrapping this one up within the next few days. To all those who are still reading/reviewing - THANK YOU! Love to all.**


	69. Lark

**Author's Note: Please be aware that this is the final chapter of this story.**

" _CRUCIO!_ "

Voldemort crossed his arms over his chest and watched as Bellatrix stood in the field of tall grass, circling around her victim. Well, one of her victims. She had three of them - three of the last remaining open allies of Albus Dumbledore. They had been captured by Death Eaters and turned over to Abraxas Malfoy, who had held them in Malfoy Manor until Voldemort could bring them here as gifts for Bellatrix.

He'd waited until she'd healed from her second trimester miscarriage. It had taken longer this time - weeks. She'd bled for a long while, and then she'd been weak and depressed, sobbing for hours on end, moaning and rocking back and forth, utterly despondent. Finally, she'd said that she was ready to work on the prisoners, and Voldemort had turned her loose.

" _CRUCIO!"_  Her spell smacked into the body before her, but the red light fizzled out, and she growled angrily, "This son of a bitch died."

"Well, you didn't give him any water for four days," Voldemort called, and Bellatrix laughed rather maniacally.

"Yes," she shrugged. "I suppose people do need water, don't they? Oh, well."

She nonverbally dragged the body up, higher and higher and higher, and Voldemort watched as the corpse soared up into the sky. Then Bellatrix released her spell, and the body fell like a stone, dropping ungracefully, flopping like a rag doll until it landed with a  _thump_ that sent crows scattering with angry caws. Bellatrix giggled where she stood, and then she aimed her wand at one of the remaining prisoners and cried,

" _Crucio!_ "

Voldemort felt a mix of nausea and amazement watching her work. He remembered, suddenly, what she had been like as a sixteen-year-old girl in a peasant costume dancing "Viviana's Decision." He'd had her pressed up against a wall, and she'd had no idea what to do with his cock. She'd been wide-eyed with wonderment.

That girl was dead, just as dead as Starling. She was cruel and angry to the marrow of her bones now.

"Bella," he called, "Leave them be and come inside. I've got another gift for you."

Bellatrix released the red web of torture from the wizard, who was long gone. He was white haired and twitching, no longer responding, and when Bellatrix walked away, she deliberately stepped on his hand and got no response out of the man. She walked into the house, through the breakfast nook where she'd made her Horcrux, and she followed Voldemort into the library.

"What is that, Master?" She tucked her wand into the holster at her wide leather waist, and she marveled at the intricate wooden box on the desk in the library. He shrugged and suggested,

"Open it, why don't you?"

Bellatrix chewed her lip a little and pulled the carved wooden box open. Inside was a little statue, a marble figurine that Voldemort had commissioned. Bellatrix pulled the statue out and studied it, and her large, dark eyes welled heavily.

"Starling," she murmured, and Voldemort nodded. The bird was crafted of black marble inlaid with iridescent colours - purple and green and blue - and beaded black eyes. The bird was in the middle of flight, taking off for somewhere unknown. But as Bellatrix stroked the bird's back, the enchanted statue moved. The wings beat down, and the bird let out a little cry.

"Starling," Voldemort said reassuringly. Bellatrix nodded, raising her eyes to him.

"Thank you."

* * *

_June 1975_

_Abraxas,_

_I'm glad you got those divorce papers finalised. I know you will be much happier in your new marriage, and, in any case, Aeta seems to have quite settled into her new life in America._

_I'm not as surprised as you that Lucius and Narcissa haven't got a child yet. Bellatrix has spent years convincing her sister that the early years of marriage are best spent tangled up together in bed sheets, and she's probably right. Take that advice yourself, Abraxas._

_No, I am not letting Avery retire as Minister. Just because I'm publicly in charge does not mean he can slack off his duties. I still require bureaucratic administration of my Ministry, and Avery does a fine job of it. Besides, if he retired, who would take over? You? What a mess that would be._

_Bellatrix is doing well these days. Better than ever. She was elated last month when that nest of resistance fighters was uncovered and she got to torture and execute all of them. It's been awhile since she's had good old-fashioned fun like that. I'll have to throw her an Azkaban prisoner every now and then just to keep her vibrant._

_Keep me apprised on those Pureblood American families who want to resettle - now that they're feeling what a post-Rappaport America means, we'll welcome them with open arms. Perhaps a resettlement package can be developed. Let me know. And set a date for the damned wedding; I've got a busy calendar._

_L.V._

Voldemort blew on the letter, rolled it up, sealed it, and shouted for Plinky. When the House Elf came tottering into the office, Voldemort handed the letter over and said tightly,

"To Abraxas Malfoy."

"Y-Yes, M-Master," Plinky nodded, dashing off.

"Oh, and have Pokey get dinner ready. Beef stew for the grown-ups, and -"

"N-Noodles with cheese s-sauce, M-Master?" Plinky asked with a grin, and Voldemort laughed.

"They're so damned picky at this age. Yes. Noodles with cheese sauce. Have it ready soon; I'm starved."

"Y-Yes, M-Master." Plinky ran off with the letter, and Voldemort slowly made his way out through the foyer of Adderbury House. He went out past the library, through the doorway that led beyond the rose bushes. He plodded across the terracotta tiles out there and onto the grass, and he smiled

Bellatrix was nearly twenty-four, but she was just as young and beautiful as ever. Her wild mane of curls had been pulled into a very loose ponytail, and she wore a billowing black blouse and long black skirts, with a wide leather belt binding her narrow waist. He could hear her laughing as she dashed through the tall grass, crying,

"Lark! Don't run so fast! Mummy can't catch you if you run that fast!"

Lark, who was not quite two but had a mind entirely of her own, raced away from Bellatrix, her laughter pealing through the evening air. Her black ringlets bounced around her shoulders, and Voldemort huffed.

"Lark!" he shouted. "Listen to your mother."

Lark finally stopped, whirling around to reveal plump cheeks reddened by exertion and a broad, toothy grin. Bellatrix reached Lark and scooped her up into her arms, muttering things to her and then laughing. Lark clapped about something, and Voldemort shook his head, rolling his eyes.

"Let's go, ladies! I'm starved!"

Bellatrix laughed again and said something quietly to the baby, who smiled and clapped once more. As Bellatrix approached the house, he thought just how much Lark looked like the both of them - dark hair and dark eyes. And when she was old enough to do it, she'd make a Horcrux. They'd agreed upon that. Lark would be protected just like her mother and father were protected. And they would be together, all of them, for a very long while.

THE END.

**Author's Note: I know that there will** _ **never**_   **be an ending to a long fanfiction that doesn't feel abrupt, or that doesn't make someone angry. You'll never please everyone. But for me, as the writer of this story, I feel like this is where the ending needed to happen to avoid dragging things out and to give everything some closure. I hope at least some readers agree.**

**I want to thank you so very much for making it through 160,000 words of this story with me. This has been one of my absolute favorite Bellamort fanfictions to write so far. I have really enjoyed working in this storyverse.**

**I have already begun my next novel-length Bellamort story, and I hope you will join me there. It is entitled** _**Let Your Indulgence Set Me Free.** _

**I am grateful beyond measure for your readership and feedback on this story.**


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